


The Monstrous Fellowship

by IchijouKenichiro



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 87,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchijouKenichiro/pseuds/IchijouKenichiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Astrin's cousins Fíli and Kíli left to fight the forces of Mordor over two years ago, but there's been no word from them for the last six months. Being a woman of action and the one who always is there to get them out of trouble, Astrin disguises herself as the male warrior Gimli and joins the army to fight for them. But the regiment she joins is anything but typical. With troublesome hobbits, a religious fanatic, the undead, a golem, and even an elf, are the greatest dangers to come from her fellow man? And what secrets are they all holding onto?</p><p>A parody of Terry Prachett's "A Monstrous Regiment"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From Astrin to Gimli

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Gigolas Big Bang.
> 
> Translations for the Khuzdul and Sindarin are available by hovering your mouse over the word or sentence. I am not proficient in either language, so if you see any issues, please let me know.
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you to Determamfidd for being a wonderful beta and to Jaegervega for his amazing art. And to McKittericks and Orchis for encouraging me to power through, thank you.

The Monstrous Fellowship

Astrin read her note one last time before placing it into the envelope and sealing it. She still had another hour before the servants would be waking up and could find either the note for her father, or discover her absence.

She faced the looking glass and gave her beard a last check. It had been a year that she had been growing out her hair, despite her father’s protests to have it trimmed into a more demure fashion. Longer hair was a sign of beauty, but it also sometimes carried the connotation of promiscuity that her father, Gloin, was worried would reflect poorly upon her. When at last her father grew too insistent, she braided the extra locks and trim them off, carefully preserve the hair for later. After the year of collecting, the day had come at last. She painstakingly braided each of the extra strands she could into her beard to lengthen and fill it out. Her sturdy fingers worked carefully to plait the auburn hair into the proper style for a young Longbeard man. It was a sin unto Durin to be a woman with a long full beard, but then again, Astrin had given up on believing in things like gods and prophets long ago.

Packing the extra braids of her hair into the bottom of her bag and some spare clothes from her cousins, she swung the pack onto her back. It felt strange to be wearing Fíli and Kíli’s clothes, but it was for them that she was going out on this quest anyhow.

Younger though she may have been, she had always been left to help care for the brothers. They had come to live with Astrin and her parents after their immediate family had gone on the quest to reclaim Erebor. The two boys’ identity was held a secret from all but blood relatives since the bloody battle of the five armies. Wanting to prove themselves in battle, they had accepted an invitation from king Dain to join the war effort. It had been three years since they had gone off to fight the forces of Mordor, but there had been no word for the last 18 months. If they had been killed there would have been letters. Surely something had happened though for them to lose contact. Astrin wasn’t the type to sit around and do nothing. She would rescue them even if it took dressing like a man to do it.

Growing up in The Duchess, Astrin had learned everything she needed to become a man. The overly confident walk, the vulgar words, and even a little bit about how to make it through a bar brawl. She had learned all the words to popular war songs like “The Axes of Nul-gabir”, “Mahal’s Hammer”, and “Misty Mountains”, and she had most of the words down to “Sweet Boli and the Mine Shaft”, a particular favorite with randy young dwarves.

But the things she needed to fight she had learned from her father’s war buddies. It might have been an abomination unto the prophet Durin for a woman to wield an axe, but it was funny to watch a girl swinging one wildly about. So long as you didn’t seem like you were likely to be any good, it was good fun for all involved. But Astrin had learned the delicate act of playing the fool. It allowed her to pick up some of the true tips of war. If you can’t reach their neck or face, knock out the kneecaps first. You don’t have to fight ‘fair’, your enemies won’t and other similar bits of advice.

Even with all the years of practice and study however, putting her plan into action was not going to be easy. The consequences of getting caught were severe, ranging from having her beard shaved publically to execution. Astrin knew that if she wanted to have any chance of success she needed to leave behind every bit of her womanhood. It was the smallest details that could destroy you and she would have to leave every part of who she had been as a woman behind if she wanted to make it.

Astrin tossed her pack out the window and followed right behind it, but it was Gimli’s boots that landed upon the ground. Gloin’s axes, borrowed for this rescue mission, clanged together in the early morning quiet.

Gimli took a few steps, testing out the swagger she’d seen men, well, other men, do before. It was all going quite well until she got a little too enthusiastic and tripped over a large rock in the road. She dusted himself off and then gave one last look back in the direction of the inn. She was going to miss his father, but knew that he would be fine on his own, even if he didn’t understand. If only her mother were still alive to help take care of things. For all her mother’s strict following of Mahal’s ways, her fervent praying had not spared her life.

Gimli took the fork off the path that lead to the back roads southwest, leaving memories of her parents behind. She had heard from some of the regulars that the army recruiters were going to be out looking for more men. No one in the Blue Mountains wanted to join the war effort anymore; too few had come back from the front lines at the border of Mordor this year or last. There were too many old men and too few young ones returning whole, if at all.

Gimli took the last turn off of the road heading towards the ancient elven city of Rivendell, going south to the city of Brie. She passed the guard’s inspection, citing her business, and waiting for the old guard to open the creaking wooden gate.

Astrin made it to the center of town and headed towards the inn she had heard the recruiters would be stopping at. She hurried along to make sure that she hadn’t missed them, her heart racing as she grew close.

Once she confirmed that the cart was parked where it was supposed to be, she slipped down a small side street and adjusted her clothing one last time. Then approving of her appearance, what she could see of it in a puddle, she took a deep breath in. She breathed in the true start of her life as a man and breathed out her last moment as a woman.

Gimli puffed up his chest and thrust his pelvis forward. He was a proud dwarf, after all. He would out drink anyone and never turn his back in a battle. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he strutted out towards the tavern. The two recruiters had no doubt set up inside the bar to entice young lads to sign up. Now it was Gimli’s turn. He threw open the large wooden doors and went to the table where the two recruiters sat, drinking their ale.

It was hard to tell when looking at the two solders if the one man was particularly tall or if the other was just particularly short. Next to each other the contrast was almost startling.

The tall man, grey haired and bearded, looked at Gimli and gave him a wink. “Ah, come in, young man.”

The other man, short with thin wispy brown hair, gave him a dubious look, scratching at what little hair was left on his head. “And what does this one want, hm?”

“Came to join up, sirs,” Gimli said. This was the moment of truth. If he couldn’t make it past this point, it would mean having to go back to the inn in shame.

“Really?” a wicked grin crossed the taller man’s face.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you don’t want us to get you blind drunk first?” asked the tall one, leaning forward to examine Gimli.

“No, sir.”

The man stared at him, scratching his beard. “And you don’t need to hear how in the uniform you’ll have to beat off women of all the races of Arda with a stick?”

“Don’t think you’ve mentioned it yet, sir,” replied Gimli.

“Did I mention the food? The best you can get, as though it came off the tables of the lady of Lorien herself!”

“No, sir. I don’t much mind where it tastes like it came from, so long as there’s plenty to go around.”

“And you don’t need to hear about how you’ll earn yourself half a gold coin a week for your service?”

“No, sir. I may be a dwarf, but I joined up to fight for Middle Earth and the honor of my ancestors.”

“Upon my word, looks like we have a red blooded patriot on our hands, corporal.” He gave Gimli a last look up and down. “You’re a good lad.”

“Sergeant, it barely looks old enough to join the army. It’s a childrens, it is,” murmured the sickly looking corporal to the sergeant as if Gimli wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“What’s your name and age then, to put Corporal Sméagol’s mind at ease.” The sergeant picked up a quill and found his place on the parchment.

“Gimli, son of Gloin. And I am eighty-six, come Sunday.”

“Right, right,” said the sergeant with a look that seemed to know he was lying, but that he was not going to push the matter.

“Just make your mark here, kiss the duchess, and you’re one of my little lads. My name is Sergeant Gandalf, and I will be your new father. Corporal Sméagol here is your new big brother. And your life will be all honey cakes and roast beef so long as you’re with me. And should anyone try to drag you away, they’ll have to drag me away too, because I will be holding tight onto your beard. Now, just put your mark here.” He placed a long wrinkled finger on the spot next to where he had written Gimli’s name and age.

Gimli lifted the quill from where it had been replaced in the inkwell and signed by his name.

Both Gandalf and Sméagol looked at him with confusion. “What’s this?”

“My signature,” Gimli replied.

“It can read and write?” asked the Corporal.

As Gimli opened his mouth to speak the door opened again and several men, no, several other men, Gimli corrected himself, walked in and strode towards the table.

“Very fine penmanship,” commented Sergeant Gandalf, “You may be officer material, lad.” Then he turned to the man beside him. “Hand him the picture, Corporal, and the joining fee.”

“Right, Sergeant,” replied Sméagol. “Now it’s time to kiss the mistress, Private Gimni.”

“It’s Gimli, sir,” corrected Gimli, and the Corporal held up the small portrait of the Duchess, which Gimli gave a quick peck, trying not to taste whatever the scummy looking grease that covered the glass was. He regretted letting himself breathe, the stench was foul as orc breath.

Then the corporal handed Gimli a slip of paper.

“What’s this, Corporal?”

“A We Owe You. We are short on the shillingses right now. But the barkeep will give it a pint for the paper, courtesy of the mistress.”

He took it and turned towards the other recruits. The first one to step up after him was horrifying to behold. Gimli had to hold back the twist of panic in his gut. The man was a personification of dark and straggly. His long greasy black hair hung out from behind the hood of his dusty black leather cloak and the stench of rotting flesh was unmistakable. There seemed a dark cloud following him as he approached the table.

“Well, when it rains it pours, doesn’t it Corporal? Come now, lad, give us your name.”

“Strider, sir.”

Sergeant Gandalf peered within the cloak to the face, observing carefully with a look that said it had not been a pretty sight. “You know, somehow I had a feeling it would be.”

The ranger stood silently.

“We don't see your kind too often these days,” continued the sergeant.

“Out of willing souls to be torn apart then?” spat the corporal.

“Now, there’s no need for all that, Sméagol. There are many a fine soldier who would be missing parts or never to return if it wasn’t for the ancient magic of a passing Ranger. Isn’t that right, Strider?”

The corporal looked around suspiciously. “Well we’ve heard a few tales of people who mades deals with a ranger and that passing Strider used blood magic to steal its soul or if it was lucky, it woke up only with some pieces missing.” He spoke the last part glaring directly at Strider. “Heard they were keeping a few to replace their own.”

“I assure you your soul and body are safe from me, corporal,” said Strider.

Gimli started to chuckle and stopped dead when he realized everyone had turned to him.

“We once met a sergeant who had a Ranger put its arm on backwards. What good is that for a soldier?” Gimli was already beginning to loathe the corporal.

“I cannot speak for the other Ranger, but my work is true. I want no trouble. I merely wish to serve my country.”

“Well said, Strider.” Gandalf held out the quill. “Now promise you won’t mess with Corporal Sméagol’s soul and we’ll move along with this. Very good. Now place your mark here—another signature? A bright group of lads we have here indeed. Now kiss the duchess and you’re in.”

Sméagol watched Strider carefully, holding onto the paper as if it were precious before finally handing it over, peering at the rotten flesh of the hand as it was taken from him. The Corporal glared as the rotting recruit placed his lips, what there was left of them at least, to the portrait. “We will keep our eyes on this one.”

The next to step up was a slim and elegantly dressed young man. Every item from his green brocade tunic to his brown leather boots was perfectly kept and without a grain of dirt. Every strand of ashen hair was immaculately kept. He walked with the air of someone very important. Gimli assumed he was some sort of lord or another. The man even had a bow and a pair of blades on him. The whole affair seemed to make the sergeant quite nervous.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place, m’lord?” asked Gandalf

“Yes, Sergeant, I wish to enlist,” came the voice as smooth as velvet.

Gandalf fiddled with the quill nervously. “I just am not sure that a gentleman, such as yourself, would care to—“

“Are you going to allow me to enlist or not?” snapped the man impatiently, his fangs showing just a little.

“You can join, of course. We just aren’t used to gentleman joining up as common soldiers.”

“If you mean is anyone after me or if there is some price upon my head, the answer is no.”

“How about an iron stake?” asked corporal Sméagol. “It’s an elf, Sergeant! A green twigger; it’s got the pin!”

“Yes, I am a green twig and as our motto goes, ‘Not one drop, Not one bite’. Which means that I have given up on eating mortal flesh or drinking mortal blood. I’ve taken the oath not to and I’ve kept with that for almost three decades! If you have any objections to my joining, you merely need to write a letter informing the Council of Trees of your complaints.” The threat practically dripped off the words.

Gimli was impressed at the response. After all, elves had connections everywhere. If you said you had a problem with an elf, you were never quite sure who it was that you might be insulting; or worse, whose family. And this elf was finely dressed. That much brocade signaled that this was one probably had connections all over middle earth, and the alliance was hardly small.

The sergeant didn’t seem eager to take any further risks and handed the quill to the elf. “We need the men, corporal. Give him his coin and let him give the Duchess a kiss.”

“But, Sergeant, what if it gets hungry in the night?” protested Sméagol.

“Then he’ll have to wait for Private Strider to finish taking your soul before he gets his midnight snack.”

The corporal scowled, but handed over the slip of paper and held out the small portrait.

The sergeant looked at the long loopy lines of the elvish signature for a while as the elf finished with the portrait. “Legolas, is it? Good thing we didn’t have the iron coins this time, eh?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Next in line, come along,” called Gandalf.

Gimli turned away from the line of men and to the bar keep. “One pint, please,” he said, handing his slip of paper to the man.

The barkeep sneered and took the paper with the manner of someone who hated his life. Watching the man pour the liquid, he knew what to expect. It would be stale ale, sour and watery.

His father had always prided himself on not being this sort of establishment. Here was the type of place that collected the drippings from the keg spigot to pour back into it at the end of the night. It was the type of place that took anything sold as “ale” and put it in the barrel; regardless of what type it might be or what might still remain in the barrel.

As he took the leather mug, which hardly looked like it had seen so much as a wipe with a dishcloth, he overheard two other recruits, who were sitting at a table nearby.

“A fine ale!” said the first recruit to the second.

“It is,” replied the second to the first.

“I didn’t reckon we could get something so fine outside the shire, Mr. Frodo,” continued the first one.

“Indeed, I feel much better for it.”

Gimli turned from their conversation. Clearly those two boys had never had so much as a taste of real brew. But if they were from one of the poorer towns nearby, anything probably tasted better than being sober. And from the sound of their conversation, being sober hadn’t been easy.

“This beer tastes like horse urine,” came the voice besides Gimli.

He turned just in time to see the barkeep lean in close to where Strider was staring deep into the drink.

“Oh, and I take it you’ve drunk horse piss have you, boy?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Strider told the man in a frank tone.

“Now listen here!” the red-faced bartender started to grab a hold of the collar of Strider’s hood.

Just then, a long arm grasped the man’s arm before it got further. “See, what’s going to happen here, is you’re going to start by accepting that as a compliment. I may not have ever consumed horse urine, but my sense of smells is good enough that I can discern much of what’s in there and if rat droppings were the worst of it, then you probably wouldn’t be getting so many complaints.”

Gimli hadn’t even known that Legolas was so close to them. His gaze lingered at the fanged grin as Legolas stared at the beady-eyed man.

“Now, I am going to let you go and you’re going to take this barrel away, which you obviously put here by mistake, and replace it with something that’s made from grain and yeast. Got it?” At the last bit his nails dug into the man’s arm and green spread through the flesh like tiny roots. “Just nod.”

The man nodded.

“Very good.” Legolas released the man who stepped back, sliding his arm under the bar.

“Bloody twiggers!

“I wouldn’t try it,” said Gimli, knowing that anyone with a bar kept a cudgel or something similar in that spot. “You can’t move faster than an elf.”

The man sucked his teeth and his hand came away from the bar without anything in it.

Gimli nodded at the man’s wise decision.

“Here’s a last thought for you,” said Legolas, sliding silently onto the barstool on Gimli’s other side, “ We’ll ignore for a moment that assaulting a soldier is an offense punishable by death. But if you ever try to hurt any of our unit, I may just forget what my pledge to the Council of Trees was.” He looked down at the bartender’s throat. “It has been so long since I’ve had even a taste.”

The grimace on the bar keep’s face settled into something akin to a smile. “Just a small misunderstanding there, gentleman. I’ll go take care of that, shall I? No harm, no foul.” He grabbed the barrel and carried it out as fast as possible.

“Well, he’ll no doubt be your best friend now that he knows you’re stronger and smarter.”

“Well, how could you ever know that?” scoffed Legolas, “I’ve seen his kind enough over the centuries to know. Is there more than meets the eye to you, Dwarf?” The last word came out sharp as a knife.

Gimli’s heart began to race. It wasn’t just that he was angry about the way Legolas had spoken to him, but also the fact that he had only just joined and now he had already slipped up so early! He only hoped that the elf couldn’t hear his heart beat thundering in his ears. “I worked at an inn for a bit.”

“I knew there had to be a better inn than this one in town,” said Legolas with confidence.

“There may be,” replied Gimli, “but I’m not from around here.”

Gimli looked into his mug and thought about the bartender. He hated those low creatures that preyed on weakness and opportunity but would befriend the strong for protection. The man was a snake. No, he was a—

“Worm,” Legolas said unprompted, and Gimli wondered if the rumors were true about elves reading the minds of men and dwarves. He would have to be careful around this one.

The three of them turned to the newcomers at the recruiting table until the bartender arrived with a small oak keg and brought out three pewter chalices from under the bar.

Legolas took the first drink and gave it a sniff before carefully drinking it. The bartender handed both Strider and Gimli theirs.

Gimli took a small sip and sighed with happiness. “Now this is some real spirits.”

Suddenly there was a rumble. A moment later there was another one. And then another.

Everyone turned to the door. After a few more moments a large stone head appeared in doorway. Then after a last rumble, the golem stepped inside the tavern.

Gimli never had any problems with golems. His people had once used them to carve out the deep places in the earth. There was even stories of golems being used to defend against the great Balrog of Khazad-dûm. The dwarves had mostly stopped creating golems these days. Giving up your body to become a stone giant was a noble aspiration, but you lost your identity. You gained size and strength, but you lost your ability to share in a normal life, to be able to have lovers, and to craft, to create. Your only purpose became battle. With the war happening, one would have thought more willing to volunteer, but the thought of losing any of your family to such a task had since become frowned upon.

“I’ve come to join,” said the golem in a slow deep voice.

“A golem?!” shrieked the corporal. “Sergeant, we cannot let it join!”

“Oh, stop your screaming, corporal, he’s just a golem. Now, enlist him.”

“It wants to fight with us?” asked the corporal, his voice shaking and his eyes getting huge.

“I want to fight with the army,” the golem replied. It stopped moving for a moment then held out a hand. “I would like my coin now.”

“We just has pa—“ he was cut off as Gandalf’s elbow hit him in his ribs. “Oh, right.” He grasped around within his pockets and then placed a real copper coin into the large hand.

“Welcome to the company. What is your name?” asked the sergeant with a smile and holding the quill up.

 

“Boromir,” said the golem and then stomped over towards the bar.

Gimli watched the slow but powerful movement, noting that Boromir would be a strong ally for their company.

Large stone hands broke the coin neatly in half and then dropped both halves on the bar. “A drink.”

The bartender looked up as he took the two pieces and he disappeared for a moment into the back before returning with an enormous mug, the handle of which was as tall as Gimli’s forearm.

The smell of the drink caused Legolas to break into a coughing fit and made Gimli’s eyes water. You didn’t so much smell the drink as taste it inside your mouth, the flavor like a rotting egg. He could only imagine what an elf’s senses might make of such a thing.

The bartender took half of the coin and some powder from a pouch and dropped them both in when Boromir gave him the nod. The beverage began to spark and steam.

Strider seemed particularly interested in it and started to lean forward, though Gimli hardly knew how he seemed unaffected by the stench.

“You boys should probably take a couple steps back,” warned the barkeep.

“Why, what happens?”

“Usually not much but sometimes they, oh here we go.”

Boromir’s eyes, before a green light, turned red and smoked. Then without any warning he went stiff and fell over backwards like a wooden block.

“Will he be alright?” asked Strider, taking one step towards the golem and giving him a look over.

“He’ll be fine. These young golems think they can drink like the old stone men of legend. But more often than not they end up like this. The drink temporarily fizzles the connection between the soul and body. Come morning it will be like it never happened.”

The corporal stood in the center of the tavern. “Boys, gathers around then, yes? It’s time for them to go to bed. The stable out back is all for them. We will see them again in the morning, first thing.” And with that both the corporal and the sergeant got up and left.

All the recruits, with the exception of Boromir, headed to the stable and settled down upon the straw. Small talk between those who were sleeping next to each other revealed the names of the remainder of their companions. There was Frodo Baggins, “Sam” Gamgee, “Pippin” Took, and “Merry” Brandybuck. They all seemed like a good group of lads, even if they all looked like scared children to him. But they were hobbits, so that might have affected his perception. He knew his father had a friend from the last war who was a hobbit, but the man never visited them. It was always Gloin who would make the journey instead, leaving Gimli to the inn.

Of the men of the unit the one who he worried most for was Frodo. There was a haunted look about the man that seemed like something awful still followed him. As they settled down to sleep, Frodo took a small portrait of the golden lady, better known as the Duchess, out and placed it upon the wall by his head and began to pray. No one said anything about it, there was bound to be at least one religious person in a mixed company like this. It was rumored that the Duchess had been dead for years. No one had seen her leave the forest in half an age, but that didn’t stop people from believing that she still watched you and many from all over middle earth prayed to her. It was said that she had gone back to her forest to grieve when she’d lost the Duke and never been seen since. Elves were known to let their lives leave them when faced with the death of their lover. But Gimli was hardly well versed in the ways of elves, so he didn't give it much thought.

No one slept very much that night. It might have been the cold drafts or the sound of the rain, or even just the thoughts of the future. The only sound other than wind was the occasional passing of gas from one end or another. Gimli made a few expulsions of his own, or if he couldn’t, he at least made the noise. A few times he heard people stumble out to the latrine. And once when he was half asleep he thought he heard a muffled sob. It was disheartening before they had even begun.

Eventually Gimli got up to try and relieve himself before the inevitable morning rush. He hurried out through the rain to the set of three connected stalls. He had spent several months learning how to maneuver the trousers so that he could pee standing up and not wet the fabric in the process. He smiled, even through the stench of the small latrine, at how he managed to succeed when it really counted.

“Psst!” came a voice from over the small wall of the next stall over.

A startled squeak came from his mouth before he coughed to cover it. “Yes?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound particularly rough and manly.

“You’ll want to take these,” the voice said and a pair of socks appeared over the top of the cubicle wall.

“What’s this for?”

There was a sigh from the other side of the wall. “Your dwarf body is good and flat and where it should be, but you are missing a bulge where it counts most.”

Gimli said nothing, trying to figure out what was going on.

“In your pants!” came the harsh whisper of the voice. “And they notice what’s missing most. Use the socks to fill it out.”

Gimli cursed under his breath. “By Mahal’s beard, is it that noticeable?”

“No. You just seem like a scared dwarfling trying to look big and tough. Just keep your hand in your pants a bit more often. A young man never grows tired of rooting around in there.”

“Thank you?”

“Now, can you pass me some paper?”  
\---

“They all has 20 minutes to clean up and eat! Breakfast is in the tavern for any of them with enough time. We meets back here. Any of them who isn’t with us then, is left behind!” barked corporal Sméagol from outside the shed.

Gimli had to figure out whom it was that knew his secret and fast. Like the old proverb said, “A secret is like a dove; when it leaves the hand it takes wing.” It was too soon now to have compromised himself. The fact that he hadn't managed to get through the first 24 hours before someone noticed was more upsetting than he could have anticipated. Maybe if he knew who it was he could pull that man aside and ask that he swear not to divulge his secret.

He was certain it wasn’t Sméagol or they all would’ve heard about it by now. It had to be a recruit in the company. Well, not Boromir, he wouldn’t have fit in the stall. That left Strider, Legolas, or the hobbits. Of those choices he suspected it was either Strider or Legolas. Strider, being a ranger, would have a good knowledge of anatomy. On the other hand, Legolas was an elf; he had probably centuries of experience and heightened senses.

Whichever of them it was, he just hoped they would keep his secret for him. The penalty for withholding information like that was pretty serious, but one could easily claim they hadn't known for certain. He knew he was going to get himself too worked up if he wasted any more time sitting around worrying, so he decided to proceed and look for clues to the person's identity later.

As the battle to get ready began, Gimli felt a swell of pride in his early morning preparation. After the incident in the stalls, he found it difficult to sleep and ended up packing his bags until he was tired again. The hobbits seemed to be in the greatest state of alarm, with small cries about meals and would there be enough to pack up for elevensies. He had only heard from his father tales of the great appetite of hobbits and he decided he would soon get to see just how much of them were right.

He strode inside and saw Boromir, sitting by the door, munching on something dark and steaming that Gimli decided he probably didn’t want to know what it was. He bowed his head to the golem as he passed. “Morning, Boromir.”

“Good morning, Master Dwarf.” The stone man turned its head to see Gimli more clearly. “What was your name?”

“I am Gimli, son of Gloin.”

“Gimli…” it thought for a moment. “Thank you. Good morning to you, Gimli.”

He gave Boromir a smile and went to one of the tables where the breakfast plates were already sitting, steaming away. It was a couple of sausages, a half a loaf of bread, and a mug of something that smelled like actual ale.

As he started in on his food, he heard the barkeep from the night before, “Here you are, milord. I went to Mrs. Clearstream in the market and bought the very best and most potent brew I could find, complete with you requested addictive. And the honey’s from the lads next door. They owed me a few favors, so I got the pure stuff, nothing extra added, and all the bits is strained out.”

Gimli turned to see Legolas perched like a bird upon the stool at the bar, looking at a porcelain teacup, and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Yes, this will do quite fine, thank you.”

One of Legolas’ slender fingers dipped into the liquid and came back to his lips, where he gave it a lick. The tips of his pointed ears twitched. Legolas took a long sip of the hot beverage, almost purring into the cup.

He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the eye, but as he watched, he could’ve sworn Legolas’ hair shone more golden.

Blue green eyes caught his gaze. “Did you need something?”

Gimli turned back to his food, shoving a good portion of sausage into his mouth and mumbling, not ready to have a confrontation with a short tempered elf at this hour.

“I don’t speak mouthful,” Legolas said, slipping from his perch on the stool. He came over to Gimli’s table and sat upon the wooden top, facing him, the cup still in hand.

Gimli stared back at him, not saying anything.

“Was it a closer look you needed? Have you never seen an elf drinking tea before?”

“I haven’t ever seen an elf before,” replied Gimli, “There aren’t any where I’m from.”

Legolas’ expression changed from threatening to mildly amused. “You’ve really never seen an elf before?”

“Only at a great distance, too great to really see what one might look like. The elders always warn children that elves are as dangerous as they are beautiful, so stay away. And there are of course the fairy stories, which keep most dwarves in my town from wanting to come across any of your kind.”

“Well I apologize that I am hardly a figure of legends and stories,” said Legolas sarcastically, smiling wide enough to show long sharp fangs. Gimli figured if most elves were like Legolas, then that sort of behavior alone was enough to scare a person away.

Then something caught his attention. Gimli leaned closer to Legolas, staring at his eyes. “Are they changing color?”

“They do from time to time. Why, what do they look like to you?”

“They shine like the many facets of a gem in sunlight, changing between blue, and green, and gold.”

“Of course a dwarf would be poetic about gems and gold. Still, I suppose it is a high praise to be compared thus by one of your kind.”

Gimli turned away and concentrated on chewing his tough bread. “We are poetic about many other subjects, elf.”

“Like what, dare I ask? War?”

He turned back to the elf, with angry passion in his face. “We find beauty in the natural world around us and in the great deeds of our kin. I see little difference between the poetry of our peoples, save what side of the earth those things come from.”

Legolas took another sip from his cup, with a light hum, and Gimli was now positive that Legolas’ hair had lightened; it was nearly blonde. His skin too, seemed fairer. He felt his anger slide away as he beheld the magic that was an elf’s beauty. No wonder the elders had given warning.

“I am not a display, Gimli, son of Gloin,” remarked Legolas, crossing one leg over the other.

“Well, you sat yourself up on the table, making those sounds, and I find it a little distracting.”

The elf gasped, as though scandalized. “I am not making any sounds!”

Gimli rose from his spot with his empty plate and carried it to the bar and left it there. He had learned early on that if he let himself get provoked, he had quite the temper. Instead, it was better to just get up and move along. So, without giving another thought to the elf he went to a table on the other side of the room and sat down to wait for breakfast to end.

He heard the sound of someone sitting beside him and turned, expecting to see Legolas. It was Strider.

“Good morning, Gimli.”

“Good morning, Strider,” he replied with a friendly smile.

Strider took up his knife and began to slice into the sausage like one would expect a barber to take after a wounded patient. The ranger, his head still covered with his hood so that only his straggly hair spilled out around his face, bent down, examining the contents carefully. He noted the hand holding the fork seemed to have patches of more than one color of skin. Could it be that rangers really did recycle parts of other people to replace their decaying bodies?

Gimli tried to lighten the mood and keep down his breakfast. “Find anything interesting in there?”

He instantly regretted his decision. “No. There’s just pork and rat in this one.”

Well, at least he had already finished his meal. Rangers didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor.

Two hobbits raced in shortly after, devouring their food with fervor usually reserved for those who were starving. Gimli worried what situation may have brought any hobbit to join the army, let alone four. And Merry and Pippin both seemed like good lads, if a bit boisterous.

Sam joined them next. He didn’t show the same enthusiasm for inhaling his food as the other two. However he did comment a lot on the quality of the food, to which Strider explained the possible cause in far too great of detail for his liking. He made a mental note to always finish eating before engaging Strider in conversation.

Last to enter was Frodo, who had only begun to eat when Corporal Sméagol sauntered into the room with the air of someone of great import. He gave each of them a hard look and a once over before he stopped in front of Frodo.

“Does Baggins think it is playing a game, precious? Does Baggins wish to be left behind!” he screamed into Frodo’s ear.

Sam stood up angrily. Sméagol started to walk towards him and Sam just took his plate to the bar instead.

“Listen, we all meets the Sergeant outside with our belongings in five minutes. Now move!”

The squad was all set into motion once more. Gimli noted while he was leaving that Sam was carefully putting the rest of Frodo’s food into a handkerchief for him.

Outside, the sergeant was already waiting for them. “Alright, lads, today you’re going to learn how to march. Corporal Sméagol, here, is going to lead you as we head to the base in Rohan. Once there, you will all get your two weeks of training, your uniforms, and your weapons. Now, have any of you ever used a sw—Private Gimli, you’ve used a sword then?”

He swallowed hard, realizing he’d raised his hand without knowing it. “Uh, not exactly sir. My father showed me a bit of how to swing an axe though.”

“So it thinks it’s ready to fight the army of the dark lord now, does it? Shall we have a test? See how much it learned? Then, maybe it can teach the rest of them a little bit of swordplay.”

Gimli knew the corporal’s type; there were so many men like him in the world these days. If you didn’t face them, they just grew bolder. He looked to Sergeant Gandalf.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” came the weary reply.

“I am going to have to test my arm sooner or later,” Gimli said and Gandalf handed him his long sword. “I’ll try not to hurt the corporal.”

“Oh, it thinks it can beat us, does it?”

Gimli mentally kicked himself. He had no doubt he would be outmatched, he had simply meant that being unused to such a weapon, he would be less likely to control his movements.

Sméagol held his blade low, a technique that was used to throw amateurs off, but he had learned well enough to watch your enemy’s eyes, not their sword, to see what they would do. He managed to parry a couple of testing blows.

What was it that his cousin Dwalin had told him, that every swordsman hated fighting with rookies because it was hard to read their movements? Yes, they were too unpredictable. With that in mind he threw his weight forward, swinging out as hard and fast as he could, pushing Sméagol back until their swords locked.

It was at that moment that he jumped headfirst at the corporal, hearing a sickening crunch as they both collided. The sound hadn’t come from him and the man crumpled to his knees in front of him.

“Alright lads, that’s enough fun for one day. Corporal, go get some ice from the barkeep, it’s always worse than it looks. And that’s to be the end of any more crossing swords with any man in this company until you get to sparing at the training camp. That’s an order for all of you!”

The corporal sheathed his sword and slunk away, one hand holding his bleeding nose. Gimli knew that that was hardly the end of things, but at least he had shown that bullying him wouldn’t be worth it.

“Now where’d you learn that last bit, Gloin’s son. I doubt you learned it from him.”

“My cousin, Dwalin, sir,” he said

“Ol’ Knuckledusters? You don’t say. How is he doing?” asked the sergeant with a hearty laugh.

“He’s just as crass and disorderly as he ever was, sir,” Gimli replied with a smile.

“Well, he always was just as suited to a bar brawl as he was on the front lines,” the sergeant turned to the rest of their company,

“Alright men, we are about to move out, so put your packs on and let’s practice some stepping.”  
\---

The marching was not entirely a success. All of the members of the regimen had such different heights that the pacing kept going off. The poor hobbits, with their short legs, had to march at near triple speed of Legolas and Strider. Boromir, who could have easily outpaced them, made sure to go slowly, walking behind the hobbits and grabbing one up and putting them back in front of him if they started to lag behind.

Over the first few days Corporal Sméagol found it was best to pick on the hobbits and he did so mercilessly whenever he got the opportunity. The little man was too afraid to pick on a golem or an elf, probably out of fear for his life. And although he’d tried to give Aragorn a slew of bizarre chores, Aragorn always did them without complaint and to his utmost effort, leaving little sport in such a task. Gimli supposed he was spared either out of fear of another broken nose, or a threat from the Sergeant. Either way, Gimli couldn’t help but feel pity for the hobbits, most especially Frodo.

Frodo was not physically the smallest, nor was he the youngest, but there seemed to be something almost fragile in him, like he was holding onto a dark secret that would shatter him if he let it out. Sméagol only laughed at his misfortunes and on several occasions the sergeant had to intervene when the torture went too far. It was heartbreaking to watch a young man’s innocence shattered before your eyes. Why had he come at all?

Everyone loathed the Corporal. He was ruining what small bit of morale they had when they set off. He wasn’t sure why the Sergeant didn’t stop him more often. Gimli did note that Gandalf’s eyes were almost always on Sméagol though. As if he was just waiting for some signal before he would take action.

At the end of the first week, Sméagol found Frodo half dozing during the daily chore assignments and he snapped, marching up to the boy and kicking his boot, startling him awake. “Is it listening?!”

Frodo swallowed hard, his whole body shaking, “Yes, sir, Corporal Sméagol,”

A victorious grin spread across the greasy face. “And what did it hear, then, hmm? Was the lady talking to it?”

“No. She hasn’t spoken to me today,” replied Frodo.

Sméagol’s face turned deep red and he trembled from the force of his rage, each word annunciated with venom, his voice growing louder and louder. “This Baggins is a worthless, vile, sneakin’—“

A singular note interrupted the tirade.

They all turned to see the sergeant, his long blade across his lap and his sharpening stone in hand, the light from the campfire dancing across his face like dark magic. When he noticed all eyes were on him, he lowered the blade and gave them a look as though he had not meant it as a warning. Gimli, of course, knew better.

“Sorry, corporal didn’t mean to interrupt your duties. Please,” his voice dropped unnaturally low, "continue.”

Sméagol grumbled and finished his speech before stomping off to his tent. Shortly after the sergeant told them he was going on watch and they had two hours before shifts would begin. The men stayed around the fire, the hobbits and Boromir talking about their home, and Aragorn putting in a word here and there. Gimli worried about saying too much and spent the time instead, getting to know about the lives of his companions. The most reassuring thing was to see Frodo finally relaxing around them.

It seemed all the hobbits knew each other in some way or another, one of the benefits of living in a small community. But when Boromir asked how they all had met, the four had looked quite nervous and got quiet. Gimli assumed there had been some trouble that brought them together and that perhaps, they had joined the army to escape whatever was the fall out of the event.

Boromir switched the topic, sensing the distress of the others and opened up about his past. Although Gimli had heard stories about the golems the dwarves had made long ago, it interested him greatly to hear of the process first-hand. As Boromir explained, he was the eldest of two sons. He had chosen to give up his body when his city came under attack from the forces of Mordor. He had a younger brother, Faramir, who their father had wanted to send to become a golem, but Boromir had taken his place out of love, not wanting his precious brother to suffer the pain and lose the chance for a full life.

Frodo seemed to understand more of the unspoken truth of the situation than the other three hobbits and appeared quite shaken. Sam cheered him up, saying that it had brought all of them together.

Merry and Pippin took that as a cue to start asking all sorts of questions about what it was like to be turned into a stone giant and Gimli worried it was too invasive. For all of it Boromir seemed happy to talk of the process, gesturing with his large stone limbs to take the fright out of it. It seemed despite his rough exterior, he was actually a very kind soul. Gimli was thankful the man would not go into the details. He had heard from his mother about how it was an excruciating ritual in which your body was destroyed and your soul retrieved.

The questions turned to Aragorn and what it was like to grow up on the move. For some reason, none of the men were very interested in asking what it was like to suffer the living rot. Aragorn answered the questions he received patiently, but without much detail. He kept his experiences with medicine to a passing comment at most and preferred to speak of his people’s love for written arts, even recited poetry when prompted.

Legolas did not speak, but spent the time gazing up at the stars. Gimli had been sitting by his side and every once and a while when there was a lull in the conversation, he could hear him humming. There was something rather melancholy, but hopeful, about the tune and he became instantly curious as to what the song was about.

Just as the questions turned upon him, Gandalf returned. Gimli was put on first watch, paired with Legolas, and finally he asked the question. “That song you were humming earlier?”

Legolas turned abruptly. “You were listening?” he asked surprised.

“Only when our companions were quiet enough. Had I not been so close I would not have heard it at all. Might I ask what it is about?” Gimli tried to be civil, what good would bickering amongst them do now?

Legolas’ demeanor calmed when he saw no malice to the question. “It is the song of Ringel, the cold star, the lady of approaching winter. Ancient elves used to say that when her lover, Lavassel, the star of harvest, went to sail the deep waters of the sky each year, she wept and turned all around her cold out of despair. For while he is gone there is no warmth left in her, but when he returns in early spring, her heart thaws and the season grows warm once more.”

“That is a beautiful tale, but very sad.”

“It is. The story serves as a reminder that although hardship is long, hope may come again,” said Legolas, with more emotion than Gimli thought was possible from him.

“Are you searching for hope while we are out here?” he asked.

Legolas’ laugh was nearly a bark. Gimli realized he had not phrased his question well. “Ha! Hardly. I was merely doing it for the sake of you mortals.”

He frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Our voices carry with them enchantment. Even if one does not know they are hearing anything at all, they can feel it within them. After the incident with Frodo, I….” An emotion crossed the elf's face that he could not read.

Gimli nodded, although he was not certain why an elf with such an entitled attitude would take an interest. Was the hobbit seemingly so helpless that it had moved the heart of an immortal? He had seen some of the boy Frodo probably was while they sat around the fire. The smallness seemed to slip away and he spoke as an equal to the other hobbits, even teasing the others. It had been a relief to see, if Gimli was honest with himself. It was not a surprise that Legolas might notice the same, but could there be more to the elf than it appeared? Could he want to actually help them out?

Gimli still was not very clear on what would even bring an elf to fight alongside them. Elves had long been keeping the evil out of their lands through magic. As a result, elves rarely had any interaction with mortals. Since only men, dwarves, and hobbits seemed in any danger from the armies of the dark lord, it was strange to think that an elf would come to them willingly. And not only that, here Legolas had not only joined, but was trying to put them at ease? The action seemed a little suspicious as far as he could tell. Legolas was certainly not like the tales he was told of elves as a dwarfling. Then again, he had long learned that one should not put all of their stock into what tales say.

“And you, Gimli, son of Gloin, do not your people also have songs of hope? Ones to raise the spirits of their comrades?”

“Aye, we do. But they would sound strange compared to your soft and haunting tunes. For they are loud and in our language, that none here would know.”

“Do you not think I could appreciate your song, master dwarf?” asked Legolas, offended.

“I fear you would not,” replied Gimli, plainly.

“Well, don’t you think I should make that decision for myself?”

Gimli stopped where he was walking. Legolas had a point. “You actually want to hear? Not just to jest?”

Legolas stopped as well, turning towards him. “It is what I said, is it not?”

They both stared at each other, tense, waiting for the other to start the fight, but neither moved. Slowly they relaxed together.

“Very well,” Gimli said, taking a deep breath to calm his nervousness about trying to sing an octave lower so as not to give himself away.

His voice came out well enough to his ears, the ancient words forming easily in his mouth. He didn’t know why he felt pride in himself at that moment. He should not when he was speaking their language in front of another, a grave sin for his people. But it was almost natural. Why should they not speaking their words aloud with others about? All the other races spoke in their own tongues as freely as in the common Westron. Was it just because it was a sin unto Durin?"

Long had it been since he believed in the prophet Durin and yet here he was, still stuck following the rules that had been passed down, supposedly to Durin from Mahal himself. His mother had been an ardent follower of Durin and prayed to him and to Mahal every day. She also prayed to the Duchess, as most in Middle Earth, and most said she was dead. Gimli personally thought it more likely Durin was a great but mortal dwarf. He had probably died and that some priest or another was using his name to make every petty grievance he had a sin. It would not be the first time.

He came to the last verse and put extra effort into projection, belting out the last bit as loud as he could. It was hard to sing without others joining in to sing just as loudly.

“That was…”

Gimli looked to where Legolas stood, his face and words seemingly in awe. “I have not heard such a song before. Truly, it was not like I had expected.”

He wasn’t sure how he should take this response. “Worse than you thought?” Gimli ventured.

“No. It was beautiful,” said Legolas with earnestness. “I have only heard the words of your people a few times before and they had sounded rough and angry. But this was… I find myself at a loss of how to describe it outside of elvish.”

Gimli chuckled. “Then I am glad to hear it. Most likely you heard some insults. There’s not much love between my kin and yours. Many are the legends that speak of the terror of elves.”

Legolas grinned, his sharp teeth glinting in the lantern light. Just when Gimli was starting to find himself at ease, those fangs reminded him of just how much danger lay beneath the fragile looking exterior.

“Our people have our own bad tales of your kind. But I find you quite unlike any I have met before,” Legolas said, giving a small sniff in his direction.

Gimli thought then that it must have been Legolas who knew of his secret. Why else would he say it like that and with a sniff at him, like he smelled different? It was entirely possible that Legolas had only met male dwarves; female dwarves were so rarely allowed out of the smithy by new Durinian law.

“Is there something you’re trying to say, Legolas?” Gimli asked, warily.

“Just that you are intriguing to me.” Legolas turned back to the path. “I did not think I could find myself so comfortable in the company of a dwarf. Come, Gimli, we must keep up our pace if we want to get back on time.”

Gimli could almost swear it was suddenly warmer, but as they began to walk, it seemed to cool again and he dismissed it as his imagination.

Legolas did not talk the rest of their time on patrol, so Gimli took the opportunity to hum a popular bar tune about a maid who played coy and then would turn and run away with men’s money. He wondered if Legolas knew it or not.  
\----

After another couple of weeks on the road, they had all gotten to know each other pretty well, except for Legolas, who never talked directly about his past. No one seemed ready to pressure him about it though; it was bound to be a long story with lots of singing and dancing under trees and eating mortals. No one was quite keen on hearing about what they might taste like, nor to possibly disturb Legolas’ hold on his instincts.

They had also learned, to watch what they said when corporal Sméagol was supposed to be asleep. The corporal and the sergeant both had separate tents and the privates all slept on the ground unless it rained and they shared one large and rather pathetic tent. Legolas had stopped them talking one rainy night when he heard footsteps. They had all been on guard for an attack, but Legolas shook his head. After they stopped they heard light hissing and the footsteps went away. There was no mistaking that someone was snooping around and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they would not have caught the sergeant if he had wanted to listen in. There was certainly more than met the eye about Gandalf.

At long last they made it to the outskirts of Rohan and there they stopped for a short break. There was a band of soldiers in the distance and Sméagol and Gandalf went out to meet them, leaving the men to their own devices.

“Oh, it’s awful,” said Frodo, “to think that we’re going to have to trust our lives to that horrible man.”

Sam put a hand on his shoulder encouraging, “Mr. Frodo,” Sam always addressed everyone politely, “maybe we’ll be reassigned to a new corporal once we get our training.”

“Oh, Sam, I feel in my heart that that will not happen.”

“Here’s a happy thought then for you,” came a voice right beside Gimli ear, and he spun quickly to find Legolas leaning down from behind him. When had he even gotten so close?

“We may have to have him as our corporal, but anything can happen in the chaos of a battlefield.”

“Like, friendly fire, you mean?” asked Boromir.

“I see you’re following me, my friend,” replied Legolas.

“Oh yes, I have heard about men getting confused in the carnage and attacking a fellow soldier just because he stepped in front of them. I’ve had to patch up a few such men,” Aragorn joined in.

Merry and Pippin both grinned evilly. “Ya hear that, Merry? Maybe things are starting to look up.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Pip, the Sarg and Corp are heading back already,” grumbled Merry, his mood souring instantly.

Sam remained positive. “Doesn’t make the facts any less true.”

Gimli chuckled. “Just remember that every extra pain he causes you is one more moment you could be confused in the fight.”

They decided they had better get ready to move back out, so the few of them that needed to answer nature’s call spread out to relieve themselves.

Gimli made sure to head extra deep into the bushes off the path so he wouldn’t be seen. When he was done, he made sure his socks were firmly in place.

A rustle of leaves behind him made him froze. He tied his trousers firmly before turning. He noticed the back of Pippin’s head and figured they’d come for the same reason. He causally started to walk back to the road, confident that the hobbit hadn’t seen anything.

Suddenly Pippin jumped to his feet, tripping over his trousers that were around his feet. Gimli rushed forward on instinct to help him up and they both froze, red in the face.

“Don’t look!” shouted Pippin, scrambling to cover himself, but it was too late, Gimli had already seen Pippin’s secret.

“Pippin, it’s alright, I—“

But the girl had already taken off running off in a different direction. Gimli stood there dumbfounded. He wasn’t the only woman in the company. He wasn’t even sure what he would say to Pippin. He wanted to reassure her that he wouldn’t share her secret, but he wasn’t prepared to disclose his own secret either.

When he returned to the road Sergeant Gandalf was explaining that they were to report immediately to Fort Edoras and they needed to start up double time.

“Permission to ask a question, Sergeant Gandalf?” said Gimli

“Go ahead, Private Gimli.”

“How far is it from here to Fort. Edoras?”

The corporal ran in front of Gimli. “We can’t tell it that!”

“It’s about another six miles, private, which is why we need to hurry,” replied Gandalf

“Sergeant,” hissed Sméagol, “that is top secret military intelligence, that is!”

“We could all march blindfolded and swear not to count the steps if that would put you at ease, Corporal,” said Legolas coolly.

“Back to marching,” snapped Gandalf, coming up next to Legolas, “And it would be best if you spent more time watching that sharp tongue of yours.”

The smirk fell from the elf’s face and he got back into line, all of them falling into step besides one another once more.

Shortly after they got back to marching, Gimli noticed Pippin refusing to look in his direction and the one time he caught Merry’s eyes there was anger there. So Merry knew Pippin’s secret, which made sense. The two of them were hardly ever apart after all. Gimli looked at the way they walked together and he remembered they also shared blankets when they slept.

Was that it? Had Pippin followed Merry to war? Had something gone wrong with their parents in trying to get wed? He had a million questions, none of which he could ask. But things just started to make sense. Cousins indeed. No cousins were that close. Each small gesture he had thought was odd hobbit behavior became suddenly suspect.

Well, surely he would not be able to tell Pippin of his secret. But someone knew of his secret the same way he knew of Pippin’s. He wouldn’t say anything, just as no one had said anything about him. It still bothered him that one of them knew. He was nearly certain it was Legolas, but still doubt prodded him.

Up ahead he could hear Sméagol picking on Frodo again. Boromir made a grinding noise. “I wish he would leave the hobbits alone. It would be so easy to just pop his slimy little head off and make it look accidental.”

Gimli smiled at the fantasy for a moment before saying, “It’d be a hassle to explain afterwards. Best to just wait for now.”  
\---

The sun had nearly set by the time they reached Fort Edoras. All of them exhausted except for Boromir and Legolas, who never seemed affected by anything. Their small band stopped at the great-carved gate.

The sergeant stopped his cart in front of the entrance and got off with Sméagol to talk with the guards.

“I don’t like the looks of this one bit,” said Merry, pointing up to the splintering wood structures rising above the gate. Most had little paint left on them and the carvings looked like even the termites had given up on trying to do any more damage than the elements had already done.

“Yeah, I don’t expect we’ll get a decent meal here,” Pippin continued.

“Ya never know, though. There could be right good eating under that dreary exterior,” Sam said with a nod, as though just saying it might make it so. “Besides, we’ll be getting ourselves some weapons and a bit of training here.”

“For what good that’ll do us. I don’t expect they’ll have much in hobbit sized equipment,” sighed Merry.

“I expect whatever we get, it’ll be better than nothing,” sniped Frodo with a grin. “I’ll speak with the Duchess in my prayers and ask her to send us something we can use.”

The rest of them looked pretty uncomfortable with the statement, other than Sam who nodded, “Thank you, Mr. Frodo. That’s right good of you.”

But the moment was not to last. “What are they doing? A bunch of gossips and layabouts, are they? We has places to go. Move it, ladies!” bellowed Sméagol.

Pippin gasped. Gimli’s face went pale, as the dread that maybe the corporal had found out somehow about one or both of them made his heart race.

“Oh, they don’t likes being called ladies, do they? Well they’re all pretty little ladies until they’ve had their training. So they better get used to that!” Then the corporal turned and got back into the cart with Gandalf and they started into the fortress, parking the cart in front of the main building, what was probably the governor’s house, or had been once.

It turned out that Edoras was not so dissimilar from the rest of their journey. If you had taken the Prancing Pony and built a city out of it, that’s what you’d have here. There was more horse motif, but about the same level of gloom and mysterious stains you didn’t dare think too long or too hard about. At least outside the stench was not so strong.

As he looked about, it was becoming clear that the shambled fortress had once been a town. The homes looked run down because they were probably empty. There was little noise, especially for a town of this size. In the dim light, he could make out what should have been a market square, but only empty wooden displays remained.

“Take a good look, boys. That way if you don’t make it through the war, you’ll know what to expect if you go to hell,” laughed Gandalf as though the thought should bring comfort. “You all will be staying in the barracks over there,” he reached out with a long arm and pointed at a large wooden building with a crumbling roof. Gimli suspected it was a church and/or barn. Human architecture was sometimes confusing when it was in good order, let alone deteriorating before his eyes.

“And this building here is headquarters. In the basement is where you’ll find the quartermaster and he’ll be giving you your weapons and uniforms. You’ve all come here as boys, but you’ll be leaving here as men.”

As they turned to move on, a thin man with long blonde hair and clean, but oversized uniform, rode up to them on a horse that looked as though it had seen more war than most solders.

The sergeant snapped to a salute faster than Gimli had ever seen him move, with Sméagol following suite once the motion caught his eye.

“Gandalf, sir. You’ll be Lieutenant Éowyn,I presume?”

The Lieutenant smiled brightly. “Indeed. And fine work you’ve done here, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir. They’re a bunch of bright lads. Four of them are literate.”

“My uncle will be very glad to hear of it,” said Éowyn, stepping down from his horse to look at each of the men individually.

After a moment of stopping in front of most of them individually he spoke again. “They look very young,” remarked the very young looking Lieutenant, apprehensively.

“Yes sir, but three of them seem to have a little fighting experience already. I do believe they’ll be able to hold their own.”

“Is this one a golem?!” Éowyn asked, his thin eyebrow raising in dismay. Boromir gave a nod of acknowledgment.

“You’ve got keen eyes, sir.”

“And what is with this one?” asked the lieutenant, peering up into Strider’s hood and then pulling back from the smell.

Gandalf smiled. “Oh he’s a ranger. They’re a special group out of—“

“Yes, I have heard the tales. My uncle once fought alongside of one. Had nothing but compliments on their skills with fixing a man up. We should count ourselves lucky then. Now then… gentlemen—“

“Listen up! The Lieutenant is speaking to them!” barked Sméagol.

Gimli noticed the young officer twitch at the sound of the corporal screaming next to him. “Um, thank you, Corporal… Sméagol, was it?” There was a confirmative nod. “Gentleman, I have wonderful news for you this evening. I expect many of you were dreading the long training you were going to have to endure here in Edoras, but I can put your worries to rest,”

Gimli did not like the way this was sounding. The tone of Éowyn's voice was enough for him to know that even the officer didn’t think there was anything good about this. He could tell from the silence that no one else thought this was going to be good either.

“The war has being moving forward very well. So well,” the lieutenant had to swallow hard before he could finish his sentence, “that you are all being sent straight to the front lines tomorrow morning.”

Angry grumbles and murmurs spread throughout his companions, but it was to Sméagol’s snickering face that he cast his glance.

“I am glad to hear how enthusiastic you are, Corporal,” said Éowyn, “For you’ll be joining your men. Your chance to get into the action has finally come.”

Now it was the regiment’s turn to smirk and chuckle at Sméagol’s horror filled eyes. “We are sorry, sir. But that can’t be right. We have… they know we have special orders—“

“No worries, corporal, you’ve been given an exemption in this case. I’m sure after so many years out of the field, you’re just chomping at the bit to get into the fray.”

If he had known Sméagol, Gimli would have expected that the lieutenant was doing this on purpose. But it was still a treat for those who had suffered the little man’s wrath.

Sméagol remained silent.

Éowyn went back to his horse and rummaged through a side pouch before coming up to Gandalf with a very well traveled package. “This is for you, Sergeant, no doubt it is quite a welcome relief.”

Gandalf took the package and held it as though it were very fragile. “Thank you, sir. I shall open this later.”

“Nonsense, Sergeant! You should let your last recruits celebrate with you when such a decorated soldier and maker of many fine soldiers himself, is able to retire early. An honorable discharge, you don’t even see those anymore!” Éowyn spoke as though this was a huge honor.

Gandalf smiled the smile of a man who was trying desperately to restrain all-consuming rage and he meticulously opened the package bit by bit as though the wrappings were sacred.

“Oh, my. How lovely. A portrait of our beloved Duchess,” said the Sergeant with all the enthusiasm of someone who had just received an atrocious gift from a beloved relative. “I wonder how many I even have now. And it says here that it’s a medal. We must’ve run out of even the cheapest alloys then.”

Gimli’s mind was racing. They were going to be sent to war without any training and without the one person who might actually have a chance of getting them out of this thing alive. His head was spinning. This couldn’t be happening. Without the sergeant protecting Frodo from Sméagol, he wasn’t sure the hobbit would make it to the front.

“And here, boys,” he held up the paper so they could all see, “is my discharge papers with the Duchess’ signature printed on it. A little smaller than the last time, but I suppose ink is getting expensive. I notice my 6 months back pay isn’t included, of course.”

Ignoring this last bit, Lieutenant Éowyn stood to attention with a fist over his chest. “Let’s have three cheers for Sergeant Gandalf, men! Hip hip…”

Silence followed; there was too much confusion for anyone to join in.

“But sir, I though every man was needed to the front,” said Gandalf more quietly to the lieutenant.

Éowyn raised an eyebrow. “Considering the wear and tear of time upon that discharge packet, I should say you have put in more than your share of additional service to her highness. It’s an official discharge, signed by the Duchess herself, there’s nothing I can do about it, sergeant. I am sorry. I would have liked to have fought alongside a legend like you. But even if I could reinstate you, we won’t be recruiting any more soldiers.“

Gandalf seemed shaken most by this last piece of news. “Sir, don’t we need more men for the front?”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done for that. You were the only one to return with recruits. Now, that is the end of your responsibility, please attend to your men and by morning you are free of your duties.”

There was a dark flash across Gandalf’s face, but he straightened up with a “yes, sir”.

“Might I ask something?” came Legolas’ voice.

Gandalf turned on him, “You do not address a superior officer directly, private.”

“No, it’s fine, sergeant. What would you like to ask, private…?”

“Legolas, sir. I was just checking. Did I hear correctly that we are to go directly to the front line without any training?”

The lieutenant’s eyes darted about nervously. “Well, you will all likely be pikemen. Not a lot of work to figure out which end is the sharp bit and that you need to stick it into the enemy, is there?” Gimli almost felt pity for the officer. He looked like he was trying to keep everyone’s spirits high while simultaneously realizing just how bad the situation really was.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Legolas said, stepping back into line.

“Before I let you all go, there is one last thing. I need a batman.”

“Who would like to volunteer to be the lieutenant’s batman?” shouted Gandalf, “And not you, private Legolas.”

No one moved except to look at one another in confusion.

“Come now, surely someone wants to take the job,” said Éowyn.

Gimli slowly raised his hand, “Pardon me, sirs, but what is a batman?” It was clearly the question on everyone’s mind.

Gandalf grinned widely, “A good question, private Gimli. A batman takes personal care of their officer. They bring them their meals, makes sure his uniform is in order, take care of the small things so that the officer can get on to commanding.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Gimli.

“So, how about it then?”

Gimli looked around before realizing that Éowyn was staring at him.

“Ah, private Gimli, didn’t I hear you used to work in a bar?” Gandalf supplied with wicked cunning.

“Well, that’s splendid. Report to my quarters at the inn at eight, Private Gimli. Sergeant, I leave the company in your capable hands.”

Gimli stood dumbfounded at the fact he was volunteered for the position based off being curious. Surely the sergeant had planned it, the sly bastard. Of course, it was too late to say no, he had the job now. He only hoped it wouldn't make it more difficult to keep his secret.

Gandalf stood to attention again and saluted as Éowyn mounted his horse and rode back off.

The sergeant turned to the company. “Alright men, you have your orders. Get to the quartermaster and procure your weapons and uniforms. You’ll have a meal and a rest and in the morning, it’s back to marching, good and proper, just like Corporal Sméagol’s taught you. Dismissed!”

Gimli turned to walk with the others when he noticed the void of expression on Sméagol’s face. “Are you alright, Corporal?” he asked.

“Gets away from us,” came a soft hiss from the corporal. Gimli didn’t know anything could be worse than the screeching and barking. He had no pity for the corporal, of course, but it was unsettling to see how broken a man could be just from mention of going to the front. The very place all of them would soon be heading.

Their regiment entered headquarters’ crumbling building. Boromir had to be especially careful to get through the doors without hitting the frame; no one trusted what even a small nudge could do to the structural integrity of the place. Once they were all in they had a cautious look around. Luckily the building was supported with large wooden beams from the inside and seemed unlikely to fall down on them and they all breathed sighs of relief. The whole place was just a large room. A fireplace off to one side seemed to be the kitchen and off to another was the armory. Pippin stopped in front of a dark hole in the floor, Merry coming up beside him.

“I wonder what’s down there?” he said, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, looking down.

“Sergeant Gandalf said the quartermaster was in the basement,” said Strider, coming up behind the two to have a look. “Perhaps that’s the stairs.”

Frodo took a step back, “I don’t much like the looks of that.”

“Come now, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam stepping boldly up to where the other two hobbits were, “I’m sure it’s perfectly harmless.”

“Legolas,” Strider called, motioning with his hand, “perhaps you can make out more than us. What do your elf eyes see?”

Pippin was leaning dangerously far forward when a head, with an axe blade imbedded in it surfaced from the darkness.

All three hobbits gave a shout. Sam put his arms up in defense, Merry ran behind Strider, and Pippin fell backwards onto his rear, still screaming.

“What’s all this then?” said the deep voice of the head. Slowly more of the man emerged from below and they all saw him for what he was, an old dwarf, missing more than a few parts of himself.

Gimli felt a rush of joy to see another dwarf, but it was quickly replaced with a flash of doubt. The hardest place to keep from exposing your secret is in front of the people you were supposed to be, after all.

“We’re the newest and last recruits,” said Boromir, picking up Pippin by the back of his clothes and standing him back on his feet.

“ Is that it then? I see. The name is Bifur, son of Bolin. Now let me have a look at you boys,” said the man, stepping heavily on a metal leg and then lighter on his regular leg. He stopped in front of Gimli, pointing a metal hand in his face. “Shamukh, ra galikh ai-mâ. Menu ku? Khagun ku?“

“Gimli men. Gimli Gloinul men, sir,” replied Gimli sheepishly; he could hardly be caught saying another name in front of the others now, but hopefully mentioning his father wouldn’t expose him either.

“Gloin! Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a few decades! So you’re Gloin’s son? Your Adad is a good man. He still holding onto his coin tight enough to break his fingers?”

Gimli smiled, feeling like the worst was behind him and like he could have some companionship at last. “Sagl mabekh, Mr. Bifur. Even tighter now than before.”

“I could tell, ‘cause those are his axes, aren’t they?”

Gimli’s hand fell upon the leather sheathes. “They are indeed.” He felt a little embarrassed now that he had stolen them. “Wanted to be sure I was safe,” he said ambiguously.

“Ah, well, any fellowship with Gloin's son in it will have free pick of all my best wares. I warn you lads, there’s not much to choose from.” The old dwarf hobbled between his good and false leg, going to a slab of stone that made up the tiles of the floor and slid it aside, pulling out several weapons and carrying them to set them besides the ragged items that were already on the rotting wood table.

“These are the weapons that I used myself a few years back, and a few that were forged for some of the officers when they were to return next month. But it seems like you lads could make better use of them. There are a few large daggers that the hobbits might make into short swords. Not sure what we have in golem size though.”

They looked over the table, searching for weapons that might work. There were two daggers, which Merry and Pippin snatched up and affixed to their belts, looking quite pleased with themselves.

“It’s alright, sir, one does not simply craft weapons in hopes of a golem joining the company. My strength is enough of a weapon on its own,” Boromir said, while simultaneously looking longingly towards one of the long swords.

Aragorn very quietly picked up a blade and held it as if in awe. “Mr. Bifur, this sword. I know this blade! Was it not broken in a battle many years ago?”

“You have a sharp eye, ranger. One of the elvish dignitaries came by just yesterday and left that with me. Said that someone who really needed it would be drawn to it. I’m a simple quartermaster, if an elf leaves a weapon with me for such a thing, I’m not one to mess about with it.”

Gimli felt a cold metal hand upon his shoulder. “Gloinul,” whispered the man and motioned him to the side. “I’ve been waiting for a lad worthy for this. I’m getting on in years now and in my condition I won’t be able to smith too much longer. But I want you to have this,” a large war axe was pulled down from the ceiling and held in front of Gimli. He might not have remembered much about quality metal, but even he could tell that the blade was forged well and with good material, not found often these days.

“Sir, I can’t. I’m just a private and I haven’t trained with a war axe before. This is a weapon for a real warrior,” protested Gimli, knowing that this blade was worth a lot and should be given to someone who could use it for its intended purpose.

“I ain’t asking. I had a dream where Mahal came to me and told me to craft a weapon. He said it was for a young dwarf, child of one of my old companions. He told me it would be used to help turn the tide of the war, for better or worse. Don’t deny an old dwarf his purpose.”

Gimli accepted the glinting blade and found it lighter than it looked. He squeezed the wood beneath his hands, getting a feel for the grip. It fit surprisingly well into his hands. Stepping forward he gave it a few swings and found it felt natural.

Bifur nodded and disappeared back down into the darkness to procure uniforms for them.

Gimli noticed that as in awe of his new weapon as he was, Strider looked even more amazed. It was as though the man had found a long lost relic. Perhaps just as he had been left an incredible weapon based off a vision, the elf that left that one for Strider had also followed a vision. There was no end to the strange things happening these days.

As he walked over to ask Aragorn about it, he saw Legolas staring at the table with distaste. He picked gingerly through the menagerie of beat up old weapons, finding nothing that would suit an elf in any way. All that remained were few rusty and chipped broad swords and a couple of dented shields. There wasn’t a single breastplate that hadn’t been punctured at least a few times with crossbow bolts. “Not a single decent bit of equipment…”

Gimli felt a little sorry for Legolas in a way. It seemed as though everyone had someone or something pushing them forward on the quest, but what did this lone elf have amongst mortals? Sam and Frodo were friends, Merry and Pippin were dating, Boromir was taking his brother’s place, and Strider and he both had weapons left to them by the fates. But what was it that pushed a being from legend to settle down with a small group of untrained men and women?

Legolas turned over his shoulder, his eyes catching Gimli’s.

Gimli could not move from his spot. He could hardly even breathe. Something about the look in those blue eyes caught a hold of him. ‘Why are you here?’ Gimli thought, searching for the answers in Legolas’ fair face, but it turned from him and the elf went to where Bifur was handing out uniforms.

Next time they were on watch together, Gimli made a mental note to bring it up. Legolas seemed more approachable one on one. In the group he was always so quiet.

“Um, Mr. Bifur, my uniform has a… a stain?” said Pippin.

“A stain, mine is missing half one sleeve!” cried Merry.

“‘Fraid there’s not much can be done about that right now, boys. You’re the last recruits, so you’ll have to make due with the hand me downs for now. There’s a couple extra uniforms here, so you can take a sleeve from another uniform and put it on the one you have there. I don't even know if we can sew enough together for you, lad,” Bifur said to Boromir.

“Sewing? What a pain!” Pippin complained.

“Give me that,” said Merry, taking Pippin’s uniform. “I’ll fix them up, now stop your whining.”

“There’s hardly enough here to arm three men properly. There’s not even a pair of decent boots,” Legolas said low.

Frodo had a grave expression on his face. “That’s because these are all off the dead. They’re only free for us because they don’t have a living person in them. Yet.”

There was something eerie about the way Frodo spoke just then, like he was wiser than himself. As if some higher power was whispering secrets to him.

“I’m sorry boys, I’ve done what I can. I’ve tried to wash out the stains and hammer out what I could in the metal. But there’s no coal for the forge. Wish I could get a dwarrow in here just to take a look at what she could do, but it's against regulations for women to be involved in any way army weapons or armor. Such a waste.”

“Strider,” said Legolas low and serious, “there’s four of us here who could stand on our own in a fight, but with only this, the hobbits won’t last an hour.”

“Legolas, daro. Annatham i bell andin. Geliathar,” said Strider back at him, keeping his own tone low.

“Grogar a gwannathar! And then so will we!” argued Legolas, his voice rising

“I made a vow and I will not break it. I am with this fellowship, come whatever end,” Strider shouted back.

Now that sounded like a disconcerting conversation. It was clear that it was unsettling the others, so Gimli stepped forward. “Come whatever end! We joined together. We have survived Sméagol and the march together. I will not turn back now.”

Boromir lumbered forward. “We are brothers, all of us. I will protect you all to my dying breath!”

Frodo stepped forward as well, “I may not be very strong, but with the Duchess guiding my steps, I will do everything I can for us to stop this war. We are meant to succeed.”

Everyone’s spirits lifted seemed to lift a bit, even though Frodo’s duchess talk always seemed a bit weird. But then again, Gimli was holding a weapon that was forged for him because of a vision in a dream, so perhaps there was something to it all after all.

“Well, since you boys are getting along so well, maybe you’ve worked up something of an appetite. We got plenty of good eating in horse these days.”

“Horse?” gasped Sam, “I don’t think I can eat a horse!”

“Prefer rat do you? I’m the same way,” said the quartermaster.

Sam looked a bit pale and Gimli worried he might faint, even with Frodo steadying him.

“I definitely can’t eat a rat!” the blonde hobbit cried, looking like he was near tears.

The quartermaster’s expression became grim. “You will learn to. Every one of you will have to learn to eat things you never thought you would. Have any of you boys ever tried Scubbo? Nothing fills the belly like a bowl of scubbo. Why, you can put any kind of meat in there, even rats if you have to. It’s good for a day’s march. I was about to make a pot of it, so I can show you boys how it’s done.” Then he hobbled toward, waving them after him.

They followed the old dwarf out to where the crumbling fireplace sat blazing, a big cast iron pot in the center, with water boiling.

“What is in Scubbo?” ventured Aragorn, peaking over the man to get a better view.

“Well, right now you see it’s just water. That’s what we call the vegetarian Scubbo. But we’re about to have some fresh horse brought in, unless one of you boys has a stash of something.”

They all glanced at one another.

“That reminds me, which of you boys is in charge of the Rupert?”

Again, blank stares all around.

“The officer,” explain Bifur, “that’s what they’re called here.”

Gimli raised his hand.

“Now there’s a good lad. Now, your Rupert is to have better food than you lot, part of their job. But you boys, you gotta try to make your own seasonings and scrounge up whatever you can.”

“How does one go about, ‘scrounging’?” inquired Legolas, one eyebrow lifted in disgust.

“You gotta go someplace with food, like an inn. And you acquire yourself some food by whatever means necessary. If you don’t succeed, you won’t eat, get my drift?”

“We have to steal to eat?” Pippin asked, panic apparent on his face.

“Unless you prefer to starve, that’s the way of things right now I’m afraid. I am told we’re doing well against the enemy in this war, but it’s costing us. The army has no money to give you boys food on top of everything else. Or at least, that’s what we’ve been told. And let me tell you boys now, starving is no fun. I lived through starvation before the war and I’ve lived through starving during the war. Either one’ll make you wanna eat your own beard.”

The hobbits looked the most distressed by this news and Gimli began to see why Legolas was so full of doubts. How would they manage with poor armor and no food? How could they possibly be winning against Sauron with an army in this condition?

“Now, you boys all get yourselves dress in your uniforms. If you need to do the repairs first, then so be it, but try to be quick about it. And you, uh, stone man” Bifur paused, holding his good hand out.

“Boromir,” supplied the golem.

The hand tightened in a fist. “Thank you. Boromir, I have a nice bit of lichen covered Soulrock in the back and some red paint. I don’t think we’d have enough bits to fashion you a full uniform out of the remaining ones, but a coat of paint should do the trick. The rest of you, get as much food in you and store as much of it in your packs as you can. Fill your boots with it if you can manage, because once you’re out, you will know regret. And if you find any spices or even a bit of gravy, keep it with you. It’s amazing what a little bit of strong flavor can help you swallow.”

Aragorn seemed to be taking notes of this with a small bit of ink and wood, writing along the cuff of his sleeve.

“Mr. Bifur, what about the fighting, though? They’re not going to send us with any training?” Merry said in a small voice.

The dwarf dropped his good hand upon the hobbit’s shoulder. “Well, the trick is to protect your mates and to keep out of the Rupert’s way. A Rupert will get you killed if you leave him up to his own mind. The men you meet on the battlefield are just as scared and hungry as you are. They only want to stick you so you don’t stick them first. That’s the start and the end of the whole thing. There is no hard feelings, just a need for survival.”

They changed into their uniforms, except for Merry and Pippin whose uniforms had to be mended. Merry was surprisingly fast with his needlework though and the others spread out to try and collect items for a meal. Boromir and the quartermaster went down to the darkness to get whatever that rock was and the paint.

Gimli headed to the inn to check on the Rupert. He could tell as soon as he caught a sight of the splintering and worn sign that this place was even worse than the last. The mud caked floor and stench of stale spilled ale confirmed his suspicions as soon as he stepped inside.

Noting a barmaid in the corner organizing some mugs, he approached. “Excuse me—err” he coughed loudly, trying to remember to be flirty. “could a sweet lass like you tell me which room the Lieutenant is staying in?”

The maid turned her freckled face to him. Gimli had hoped to get a blush, but he was treated to the frown of someone who had heard that line far too many times in their life. “He’s up the stairs, the second door on the right,” she replied, turning back to her work even before she’d finished speaking.

Gimli felt embarrassed about the exchange and scurried off up the stairs, knocking on the door.

“Enter,” came the reply from within.

Gimli bowed as soon as he entered the room, then raised his head in time to notice the bizarre sight before him. Lt. Éowyn was down to his breeches and tunic, holding a saber in the same fashion one might see a particularly skilled beginner. He seemed to be the kind of person who had had a couple of lessons and practiced them as though that were the whole of the craft. Gimli said nothing, however.

“Don’t mind me, Gimli was it?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“I’m just doing some sword drills.”

“I can see that, sir.”

“Well, Gimli, what is for dinner then?” asked Éowyn, putting away his blade and dabbing some sweat from his brow with a cloth.

“I will have to check what they will be preparing for you sir.”

“Prepare for me? No, Gimli, I will eat what the rest of you are having. How can we come to understand each other if one of us is parading around like a spoiled lord? No, that’s not how I’d like to command my first unit. What are we having for dinner?” the man asked, emphasizing the we.

“Scubbo, sir,” answered Gimli wearily. “But the meat is—“

“Capital! I am eager to enjoy a big bowl! Now, there’s a sack of laundry by the door. If you could give it to the woman downstairs to take care of. I somehow keep… forgetting to drop it off to her.”

“Of course, sir.”

The relief that bloomed over the officer’s face had Gimli wondering what dreadful aspect to this deed he had unknowingly volunteered himself for.

“I look forward to you bringing me up a nice bowl of hot scubbo!”

Gimli nodded and turned, hefting up the bag by the door up by the strap and swinging it over his shoulder.

“One last thing, private.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.”

Gimli smiled. He had not heard any stories about officers that wanted to genuinely get to know their men, and so despite the naïveté that the Lieutenant seemed to display, there was something nice about a man who cared. Perhaps he would even be able to help keep Sméagol from being so cruel to poor little Frodo.

As he descended the dilapidated and creaking stairs, he peeked his head down first, searching for the barmaid, wanting to avoid any repeat offense.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the main floor and still did not see her around. He made his way back to where the kitchen lay and peered inside. Seeing no one here either, he rapped upon the wooden frame of the doorway, calling out to the serving woman who should be there.

Gimli received no answer and stepped inside. As he peered around the small space, he spotted the pantry and headed over. The larder had little, mostly misshapen root vegetables and a few half rotten onions that had started to spout.

As he reached towards a lidded pot to inspect its contents, the back door swung open, revealing a slender woman with black greasy hair. “Are you trying to steal what little salt we have, boy?”

He swallowed hard, stepping away from the shelf and raising his hands. Then he remembered the way he saw the misplaced courage of young men back at his father’s inn and he tossed his head back nonchalantly. “Just looking for some things to prepare a meal for the officer.”

Her work-hardened face brightened. “I didn’t mean to offend, sir. I hadn’t noticed you were one of the army boys.” She gave him a look up and down and Gimli shivered, feeling as though he was being assessed the same way one might look at the selections of cut meat at a butcher shop. “One of the new recruits, I take it.”

“Yes, m'am.” He responded, forcing himself to stand his ground as she approached.

“Well, the handsome officer already knows he can take anything he likes from my stock. And if you’re right under him, I’d be happy to give you a few special things that you can remember while you’re out on those cold and lonely nights.”

Gimli panicked. He had heard stories about maids like this, but he was not prepared to start that sort of reputation for himself. He now understood why Lieutenant Éowyn had managed to “forget” to bring down his laundry.

“That’s a very kind offer, but I think I’ll just take some onions and turnips and be on my way.”

She went and picked up the largest turnips and a couple of onions, sliding them into his hands with hers over top. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get for you?”

He avoided looking at her thin face. “No, ma’am, that’ll be enough for me.”

“I’m not married,” she said softly, leaning down so they were at face level with one another.

“Pardon?” Gimli all but squeaked.

“I’m not a ma’am, I’m not married. You can call me Grima.”

“Very sorry if I offended. But I best be off! Wouldn’t want the lieutenant getting cross with me, now. Nice to met you Miss Grima.” And with that Gimli turned and ran out of the inn.

When he got to the headquarters he realized that he hadn’t left the laundry. On the other hand, it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with the women at the inn again. He had done washing from time to time at his own inn, so it wouldn’t be new for him.

With the bag of laundry dropped by the inside of the door, Gimli went to where the others were busy working on the Scubbo. “The rupert says he wants to eat what we’re having, even if it’s scubbo.”

Everyone looked horrified except for Bifur who laughed. “That sort of officer eh? Seems like you boys got the friendly type. I'm sorry lads, those are the worst kind. Maybe once he’s had a taste of the ol’ scubbo he’ll change his mind though.”

Gimli opened his mouth to ask what that unsettling comment could mean when he was interrupted.

“Onions! Oh that’s just perfect! We won’t have to eat that scubbo after all” Sam’s face had brightened when he saw what Gimli carried.

To Sam’s one side, Merry and Pippin were banging out some meat on a couple of the dented shields. On his other, Frodo was stirring the big pot of boiling grayish water with something that looked vaguely of meat floating in it.

“There’s a couple turnips too,” he offered. “Have I missed much?”

“Turns out that Sam is pretty knowledgeable about cooking,” said Strider from where he was applying some sort of ointment to Bifur’s scars.

Sam sliced up the onions and turnips in a way that had Gimli wondering what sort of profession he could have possibly have had. When Merry and Pippin were done with their tenderizing, Sam pulled out a small box of spice and massaged it into the meat.

Frodo seemed a bit misty eyed as he looked at the box. “Sam, is that?”

The other hobbit nodded. “I thought it would be nice to bring a bit of home with me on the journey. And what better time to put it to use than now.”

Legolas’ nose twitched like a rabbit and he slid from where he’d been leaning along the far wall, drawn forward by seeming curiosity to stand besides Gimli. They watched as the meat and vegetables went on a long cast iron pan over the fire. The aroma was unlike anything he had ever had the pleasure of smelling.

When Aragorn had finished his treatments, the quartermaster rose from his spot and dug into a pocket. “If it’s celebrating we’re going to do, then let us do it right. This here is a ’78 brandy, straight from the halls of Erebor.” He gave Gimli a knowing wink. “Pass this around boys, enjoy something with quality.”

Aragorn, being the closest, had the first sip and looked on appreciatively. When he was done, Sam snatched up the small bottle and threw a healthy dash of it onto the cooking pan.

Bifur grabbed at his hands. “You daft, boy?! This is the good stuff, here!”

Sam struggled with his hold “It’ll make the meat more tender and flavorful!”

Both men gasped as some of the liquid spilled into the fire. “Oh bother!” cried Sam.

Legolas was there in a flash and pulled the bottle out of both their hands before any more could be lost. “You could at least wait until everyone’s had a sip, Sam,” the elf scolded before taking a long sip and sighing pleasantly, his hair showing golder once more.

Sam looked down embarrassed. “Well, the flavor will be worth it at least….”

Indeed after everyone had had their taste of the brandy and their meal was complete, they all agreed that Sam’s use of herb and brandy were top notch.

“We certainly could’ve used a lad like you on the three tours I did. We were lucky if we could keep down any of the things we ate, let alone enjoy them.”

The hobbits began talking in depth about food and Bifur seemed enthralled with the possibilities for even the simplest foodstuffs.

Gimli excused himself briefly to start on the washing and Legolas trailed after him a moment later. As he leaned over the large wooden basin, trying to scrub out the stubborn mud stains, Legolas lounged against the corner of a table.

“I’ve never seen a man who was so well practiced in cooking arts, have you?”

“No,” replied Gimli, using his elbow to push an escaping strand of hair from his face, “but those hobbits are awfully obsessed with food, so it’s hardly surprising.”

“What about a man who says ‘bother’ instead of cursing properly?”

His hands ceased working and he turned towards Legolas. “What are you trying to imply?” he asked, already pretty sure that he knew where this was going.

The elf shrugged noncommittally. “Seemed a little unusual for a man, even a hobbit, that’s all. And he’s not the only one that I have my eye on.”

Gimli could feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Was this it? Was his secret out? “Who else?”

Legolas glanced around before sliding over to where Gimli stood and leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I’m pretty sure Pippin’s a girl.” The soft breath tickled his ear and made his cheeks flush.

Gimli pulled back a bit under the pretense of continuing their conversation. “Are you going to tell the Corporal or Lieutenant then?”

“It’s none of my business if they are breaking rules. Besides us we have a golem, four hobbits, and a ranger in our little band. What’s a couple of women compared to that?”

“You make a good point.”

“The only thing is Sam. If he keeps up the way he has been, it could mean trouble. Perhaps you could give him a few pointers.”

The comment stung, confirming that Legolas must know. But there was a mix of panic and relief to Legolas’ words. At least now he knew who had given him the socks. “To think there’s so many girls among us.”

The elf’s slender arm came up, then faltered in mid air and fell back to his side.

“Gimli!” called Frodo, from across the hall, “The scubbo’s ready. Let me see about finishing up with the officer’s clothes, while you bring him his meal.”

He wrung out the shirt he was working on and for a moment he and Legolas’ eyes locked as he rose from the stool he sat upon. Gimli felt like there was something Legolas wanted to tell him, but he hurriedly grabbed the food and rushed out of the headquarters building and into the cool air of the evening. He had had enough dancing around gender issues for one night. He didn’t think he could stand to hear Legolas give him any more advice on how to man himself up.  
\---

Gimli returned with the empty bowl from having delivered the second bowl of scubbo. Just the sight of seeing someone happily slurp away at grey water with nearly bleached meat and fatty scum floating on the top, was enough to turn Gimli’s stomach. He was relieved that he had eaten before he had taken the first bowl or he would not have been able to consume anything.

Gimli arrived just in time to hear Bifur talking with the hobbits. “No, lads, I haven’t seen your corporal before. I don’t reckon a creature like him has seen much action though. Seems like the kind to manage to wriggle out of doing any work. He has a bit of a skittering lizard-ish appearance doesn’t he?”

Everyone laughed, slapping knees and nodding in agreement.

“Our good quartermaster has been kind enough to give us a bit of information about our superiors. Looks as though our Lieutenant is the nephew of some local dignitary or another,” came Legolas’ voice from besides his left ear. Gimli was surprised that he hadn’t jumped at someone suddenly being close. He must be getting used to the elf being suddenly at his side so often.

“Well, that would certainly explain his sword drills then,” said Gimli with a sigh.

Bifur turned. “He’s the favorite of two nephews, so he’s been a bit sheltered you might say. I’m sure you saw all those books he brought with him. I would bet my good leg that he has never seen a battle in his life.”

“That doesn’t bode well for us,” grumbled Boromir from the corner of the room. He had managed to pull his gigantic legs up to his chest so he could fit more easily within the building. His red paint seemed as though it had dried well enough.

“I hope that Corporal Sméagol doesn’t become our Sergeant,” Frodo lamented.

“Why should that happen?” asked Bifur, his metal arm fingers clacking as he gestured out with the arm.

Strider spoke up, “When we arrived they retired Sergeant Gandalf. Naturally they’ll have to give us some replacement. But with only two superior officers other than yourself present, he would seem the most likely candidate.”

Bifur clapped his hands together and let out a great barking laugh that echoed off the walls. “They tried to retire him again, did they? See, I’ll let you lads in on a bit of a secret. Well, I suppose it’s hardly a secret to anyone who knows him. That old Gandalf’s been served his discharge papers more than once and always ends up mysteriously reenlisted. He’s recruited or fought with more than half of our army. There’s no place he hasn’t been and no place he won’t go once he’s set his mind to it.“

Frodo tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “If he has been in the army so long and knows so many people, then how is he still only a sergeant?”

“As I hear it, he took a bad injury to the chest at the battle of Dol Guldur. A surgeon tried to patch it up, but the ole sergeant punched the man in the face. When the wound started to go really bad, he ended up slicing the thing back open and cleaning it out with some elven remedy all on his own, drank a bottle of whiskey, and fought off a fever for a week. After that, I hear General Saruman himself ordered him to do recruiting du—“

The main entrance swung open and Gandalf hustled in. “Don’t bother saluting or coming to attention, my boys. Ah, Bifur! Good to see you again. Glad you haven’t acquired any more blades in your skull, by Mahal’s blessing. Now, have any of you lads seen the Corporal?”

“He certainly hasn’t come here,” Legolas said, “Gimli, did you see him at all?”

“Last I saw him was when we all left to come here,” Gimli replied. “Is something the matter, Sarg?”

“Not that can be helped at this point, private,” answered Gandalf, “Well, just as a reminder, we’re going to be heading out tonight at midnight. By next week we should be halfway to Osgiliath. Get as much sleep as you can before we head out. You’ll need it.”

Gimli noted the “we” in the sentence even as the sergeant gave a nod and went back out the door. Seemed Bifur was right about the ole Sarg after all. There was some good fortune at least.

“Well, you heard your sergeant, lads! Clean up and get yourselves some shuteye. I’ll see what I can’t do about scrounging up this missing Corporal of yours. I’ve heard of recruits turning tail and making a runner in the night, but this is a first. Looks like things are taking a turn for you lads.” Gimli noticed that Bifur didn’t say what way things were turning.

The same style anarchy as back at the inn ensued and Gimli found a way to separate Sam from the others for a few moments. He wasn’t sure how best to approach the subject, so he just placed a hand on the hobbit’s arm and told him he knew.

“Oh dear me! Was it all the cooking?” asked Sam fretfully.

“Well, that was certainly a clue. But it was the whole ‘bother’ bit that really gave you away.”

“Well shoot! I mean…” the hobbit struggled for a couple of moments, trying to form the word with his lips before he finally managed to spit it all out in a rush that sounded about as natural as a bird trying to breathe underwater. “Shit.”

Gimli clapped him on the back with a grin. “You had me fooled up until that though. Just try practicing a bit and you’ll be fine.”

“That’s the one part that I’ve been struggling with. I can do the walk and I can fart or burp as naturally as anything else. But the cursing….” Sam trailed off like it hurt him just to think about it. “I just wasn’t brought up to use the kind of language you men do.”

Gimli didn’t even know where to start with an explanation about how there were now three of them who were not actually men, so he decided to try to be encouraging instead. “I’m afraid you’ll have to say shit or nothing at all. But if you need to, I am happy to help you work on it.”

“Thank you, Mister Gimli. I will do my best. Have you told anyone about me?”

“I haven’t,” said Gimli, which was true, although he left out Legolas’ knowing for want of Sam’s feelings and he saw the relief wash over the hobbit’s face.

“You’re a right good friend. I’m glad to have you in our little band. I feel much safer.”

His eyes followed where Sam’s hands rested on her round hobbit belly, which looked rather plumper than what was natural now that he thought about it.

“Sam, are you?!” he exclaimed.

Two chubby hands covered his mouth. “Keep your voice down!”

They both stayed silent, looked around, and saw no one coming. Sam’s hands slipped from his face.

“Before you say anything, know that I am not going to turn back. I made a promise, I did! And I’m not going to break it on account of this. My promise to Mister Frodo comes first and foremost.”

The conviction in Sam’s warm brown eyes was enough for him to hold his hands up in surrender. “Well, just try to take it easy with yourself. And,” he pulled a pair of socks from where he had kept them in his pocket, “you are going to want to use these going forwards.”

Gimli left Sam to finish getting ready and he felt as though he was becoming the mother of all the women in the company. He already was beginning to feel personally responsible for each of their secrets. If even one of them was exposed it could expose them all.

He leaned against the wall between the washroom and the room where they were set to sleep in.

He heard soft murmuring and turned to see Frodo was praying to a picture of the Duchess he had propped up against a bent nail sticking out of the wall. Gimli was about to slip past so as not to disturb the reverential display, when Frodo curtsied. Not some kind of fancy bow, but a clear curtsy. There could be no mistaking the action.

Four women? That was an awful lot in a company of eight recruits. And three out of four hobbits were too. Could that mean Merry was a woman as well? That seemed almost too much to imagine.  
\---

Gimli stared at the fire, unable to get any sleep. There was just so much that had happened. With so many women sneaking into the army, the chances of any or all of them being discovered increased dramatically. Once any woman was discovered it would be an investigation into all their pasts. The fears churned in his mind and just wouldn’t let him rest. Judging by the rustling from the other meager straw mats, he assumed he was not the only one.

When the coals seemed to indicate that there was an hour left until they headed out, he rose, grabbed the neatly packed the satchel of laundry, and left the barracks, turning back towards the inn to wake the lieutenant. As he approached the door, a scrap of paper caught his eye in the moonlight.

Reaching down and grasping the damp parchment, he saw from the greasy ring on the corner that it must’ve gotten stuck to the bowl when he had returned from the inn with the empty bowl of Scubbo.

It was true that Gimli didn’t need to open it up or read it, but curiosity got the better of him. He read it and his heart sunk.

“Dearest Uncle,

After eight years of heading the most excellent accounting for her highness’ army, the time has finally come for me to receive my promotion to lieutenant and my first command.

You will be proud to note that I still remember all the sword drills you so patiently taught me and I have been spending this last week reading back up on the latest in military stratagem.

Regulations prevent me from being specific about the details of my newest mission, but suffice to say, I think this time I will finally be able to prove my abilities and live up to my father’s name. I am full of apprehension and exhilaration by finally meeting with our foe upon the field of battle!“

Gimli folded the letter back up and slipped it into the side of the bag, pretending he hadn’t just seen that their leader on this assignment was someone who received his first promotion after eight years when the army was at it’s most desperate. They were being sent on a suicide mission, there was no other explanation.

It was clear that they were losing this war. It was the only justification for the dilapidated equipment, the lack of wages, and the general situation of their regiment. But they were all here now.

When he entered the inn, Gimli saw two things. The first was the general disarray of the place, clothes and furniture strewn about. Anything of value that was small enough to take had been. Next, he noticed Gandalf standing near the door, lantern in one hand and his long sword in the other.

“Ah, Gimli, glad to see it’s you.”

“What happened here, Sarg?” he asked, alarmed.

“Looks like the staff got wind of something and they all buggered off as fast as they could. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Gimli gestured to the floor above with his freehand.

“Ah right, you’re the batman. How could I forget? You better go ahead and wake up the Lieutenant. Hopefully he won’t be too difficult to rouse.”

Gimli headed towards the stairs then stopped, moving a turned over table out of the way. “What could’ve scared them so badly?”

“Well, probably a rumor about invasion. Of course, we’re winning, so there’s no way the enemy would possibly dare to come into our territory,” Gandalf retorted sarcastically.

“Oh, I do despise those who have no faith in our mighty forces of good,” he agreed with just as much derision.

Gandalf tapped his nose at Gimli.

“And no sign of the corporal still?” he asked.

“None so far as I have—shh!“

Gimli stopped where he was and listened for any sound. At first he thought maybe the sergeant was paranoid, but after a moment he heard the sound of hoofs along the cracked flat stones of the main road.

“Sounds like a patrol. Close to a dozen riders?”

“At this hour? Why would they return here?” Gimli asked mostly to himself, then stopped. “They’re not ours, are they?”

“You’re right material for promotion.”

The sound of horses came to a stop near the doorway.

“Keep them distracted and talking as much as you can. I’ll handle the rest.”

“But Sarg—!“ he turned around a couple of times, but somehow Gandalf had managed to vanish from view.

Gimli dropped the bag of laundry to the ground and ran to the door and slid the bar across it. He needed someplace to hide. What if they came in? The sergeant had said to keep them talking, but the second they saw him in uniform they wouldn’t do that.

He rushed towards the bar, seeing it as the only hiding place available. As he went, he saw the scatterings of a dress and apron one of the maids must have left behind. He scooped it up and ducked down behind the bar, pulling off his uniform jacket.

The door rattled in its frame. Then a loud knock followed. Whoever it was meant business. He remained silent, scrambling to undo a knot in the lacing of the apron.

“If you don’t open up, we will take the door off,” hissed a voice, muffled through the thick wood.

Gimli pulled the dress over his head and fastened the apron atop, as fast as he could. He tried to stay calm and not get flustered as his fingers worked to finish the last of the side lacing. At any moment one of those soldiers could be through the door. If he had any chance of pulling this off, and it was a long one, then he needed to look the part. He had just started to tie on the bonnet when the door burst inward, splinters of the frame spraying across the room.

He could feel his arms shaking. As he heard the creak of boots upon the twisted wooden floorboards, the anticipation of the moment when he would be discovered filled him with dread. It was one thing to spar one-on-one with someone you know isn’t going to try to gut you. But there was no way of knowing how these next few moments would play out. There was little actual information he had heard of Mordor’s warriors and most of it was meant to terrify. Gimli had no clue how true or not any of it might be.

He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. There were three spots where he could hear the creaks were coming from. It was likely just three soldiers, much better than Gandalf’s earlier estimate. Still, he hoped that it meant the others were not in danger. If only he had a way to warn them.

An arm pulled Gimli up from behind the bar, standing him up on his feet. “And what do we have here?” The black clad figure leaned forward to inspect him.

“Just Astrin, the barmaid, sir,” squeaked Gimli, true fear in his voice.

“A dwarf, how disgusting,” hissed the solder off to the left. Now that he was lifted up, he could confirm that there were three of them. The one holding him seemed to be a superior officer. It was hard to tell with the stripes being black on the fabric of the black uniform.

“Please, sirs, don’t hurt me! I just got scared when I heard all the horses. Please! They all left in the middle of the night and didn’t wake me! I’m all alone,” pleaded Gimli waving his hands in front of him, trying to play up the patheticness that he felt. Who heard of a soldier dressing as a woman to hide instead of fight?

“If you are a barmaid, then bring us each a pint of whatever passes as your best ale in this… tavern,” said the one holding him, as he released Gimli from his gauntlet covered hand.

Luckily this inn was arranged about the same as The Duchess was and so there was no hesitation about where anything was located behind the bar. He just let his body move automatically and tried to concentrate on how to get himself through this. He didn’t know what sergeant Gandalf’s plan was, but he hoped it would start working soon. He felt strangely uncomfortable in women’s clothing, like he didn’t belong in it. But maybe it was just the stiff pair of socks still between his legs that was making him feel that way.

He set the mugs down on the countertop with trembling hands and all three of them turned their faces, at least, what Gimli assumed must be their faces, towards him. He stood and waited under their scrutinizing look before one took his mug and sipped it.

“This stuff is awful!”

“I’m very sorry sirs, it’s the best we have right now, what with the war on and all. And I am always telling Galan not to empty the drip tray back into the keg at night. But wouldn’t you know it, he never listens to me. Says the customers don’t know the difference, but I tell you, they can,” Gimli went on, trying to provide as much useless information as possible.

The one in the center tossed his head to the side. “Go check on the horses. We can handle things here.”

“Yes, sir,” the one on the right replied, sauntering back out.

Once the man was out of the tavern, the rider on the left leaned forwards over the counter towards Gimli. “Where are the recruits, girl?”

“They usually head to the battlefield don’t they?”

He slammed his fist against the wood with a bang. “The new recruits! Where are they? We heard they were here in this fort.”

“Well they hardly tell me anything, sir,” Gimli’s hand felt around under the bar until it found purchase on the item he sought.

“We forgave you the first time for being scared. But stupidity isn’t going to save you this time. Now, are you going to tell us where they are or not?”

His whole body was electric with anxiety. He just needed a moment of distraction.

“We’ll find them sooner or later. It would be better if you didn’t get yourself hurt in the interim.”

There was a scream in the distance that he knew to be Pippin’s. Was he too late?!

The riders both laughed. “Looks like our men have already found them.” They turned towards where the sound had come from.

In that moment, his muscles snapped like a spring finally released. In one swift motion, Gimli swung the baton down hard upon the closest scout’s head, then a second time out of instinctual fear.

The leader was already on his feet and backing away, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword.

“I see, so you’re sweet on one of the men. How about a deal, you make sure we have them all, and I’ll let you and your boyfriend go without any trouble?”

Although he had found the first swing difficult, now that he’d started, he found it nearly impulsive. Gimli rushed forward, swinging out wildly with all his might, the leader backing away until he’d been backed up to the wall.

A long arm caught his wrist, stopping his weapon in mid-swing as though the blow hadn’t had any power behind it.

“One last chance to reconsider my—“

Gimli’s boot connected squarely with the unarmored space between the man’s legs. Both of the man’s hands moved to hold his injury as he fell to his knees. Gimli took the opportunity to beat him in the head with his now released club. The man slid the rest of the distance to the sticky floor and Gimli, panting, stepped out into the night.

There was a thick fog hanging close to the side of the building that gave him a bit of a shiver to look at. It moved in a way this way and that, suggested sentient thought. As he began to skirt the strange phenomenon, he heard horses baying and a voice, probably the third man for before, speaking in low soothing tones.

That was his next target. Gimli took a deep breath and then stepped through the fog, using it to cover his motions as best as possible. As he approached he saw the man, trying to keep both the horses calm, a task that might be easier if he was not looking so nervous himself.

He walked slowly, thanking Mahal if he were real, for having come up from the rear, giving him the element of surprise. He raised the baton in his hand when out the ground shot a huge vine, grasping the man’s ankles and dragging him to the ground. Gimli readjusted his swing and hit the man just before he would have already been flat on his back.

“Gimli?” called a voice from the fog all around him.

“Legolas? Where are you?” he asked, swatting around his face to try to make out where the elf was.

The fog snaked away from him and solidified into the figure of the very person he sought. “I had that one!” snipped Legolas.

“How did you do that?”

“Never mind that! How many did you manage to take down?” the elf asked, gripping Gimli’s shoulder like the answer to this arbitrary question held some deep significance.

“Well, two inside the inn. A third if you count this,” he replied with hesitation.

“Mrrr! I have two if you count this one. Next time I will not be bested by you, Gimli, son of Gloin. Mark my word.”

Gimli let out a hearty laugh. He couldn’t believe that their first real battle where any of them could have been killed and here all Legolas seemed concerned with was if he was able to take down more enemies. He really couldn’t understand elves.

“Very well, elf. But there is no need for you to try to compete with me. How embarrassed will you be once I best you twice?”

“In a real fight it will hardly be a contest. You will see.”

“Very well, we shall settle it next battle. Now, tell me, how fare the others?”

Legolas swung his hair back behind his shoulder. “Oh, all our ‘men’ are just fine. Well, maybe not Merry. She nearly gutted that soldier. I have a feeling there’s more to that hobbit than meets the eye.”

“Wait, she? Then all the hobbits are—?“

The elf nodded. “It really isn’t that surprising once you think hard about it. I thought they smelled different. Anyhow. Merry got that one so bad, even Strider was doubtful he could patch the man up.”

“But I thought that Pippin had followed Merry because he was her boyfriend! Then does that mean… could they…”

Legolas shrugged noncommittally and continued to explain the situation as though Gimli had said nothing. “As for the rest of the soldiers, Strider took one out when they first came at the barracks. Boromir got two that tried to run. And Sam and Frodo managed to tackle the last one.”

Gimli was pretty proud of their gang. Except for where the bloody hell Sergeant Gandalf had buggered off to.

“Besides, I don’t think you, of all people should be judging,” said Legolas, proving that he had indeed been listening, his sly smile showed off the sharpness of his barred canines.

Gimli swallowed. So they were going to talk about this now, were they? He supposed it had to come eventually. “It’s not like I can change what I am,” he began and his comrade’s chuckle stopped him. “What?!”

“You’re being so serious. But if that’s really how you feel about crossdressing, I will not judge. I am an elf trying to live life by denying my nature, who is to say you should not do what brings you joy,” the end of his sentence dissolved into his high and clear laughter.

Gimli blushed as he realized he was still in the maid’s clothing. He tore the bonnet off his head and his fingers pulled at the lacing, turning it more into a knotted mess than anything.

Even while continuing to laugh at his expense, Legolas managed to untangle the knots with deft fingers. Gimli threw the outfit as far as he could from himself and it landed in a muddy puddle left by the previous night’s rain.

If he didn’t know better, he would swear he saw Legolas wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye. “You are certainly not how I expected a dwarf to be,” came the honest and warm admission.

“Have you not met other dwarves?” asked Gimli, curious about just how old the elf was.

“I mean, yes, a few times. But I have never had the chance to actually get to know any of them. When I have had a few short moments of conversation it was just general pleasantries, nothing to give away what sort of people dwarves are. Tell me, are all your folk like you?”

It was Gimli’s turn to laugh. “Hardly. For starters, most dwarves don’t—“

Groaning coming from inside the inn interrupted their conversation. Legolas was inside in a flash, lifting up the first man Gimli had knocked unconscious by the collar. The other man he had a foot on the shoulder of.

“Now here’s how we’re going to do this, gentleman. I am an elf who has gone without eating mortal flesh or drinking mortal blood for a few decades now. That is to say, the sight and smell of your bloody noses is as appetizing to me as seeing an Oasis after being stuck in a desert. My natural inclination of course is to follow my desire. And that desire is one to make short work of one of your lives. However, I can resist such urges if you agree to cooperate. Do you understand?”

Both nodded and Gimli took the opportunity to remove the weapons from them while Legolas used a bit of coarse vine, although where it came from Gimli was almost afraid to ask, to tie them up. They also tied up the third man and one Legolas had gotten earlier and dragged all four back to the headquarters building.

Legolas knocked twice.

“Who goes there?” rumbled Boromir’s gravelly voice.

Gimli opened his mouth to speak and Legolas’ hand came and rested gently upon his lips.

“Mellon,” he said simply, his hand lingering until the sound of the wood bar sliding away could be heard. When they were finally removed, the tips of his smooth elven fingers caressing Gimli’s lips as they passed, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. He shivered after the touch and hoped that the elf hadn’t noticed.

The door opened partway and Boromir’s large head peered out before it swung opened the rest of the way to allow them entry.

“Good job lads!” congratulated the sergeant from his stool by the fire. He had his feet propped up on the overturned, drying cauldron from when they’d made the scubbo. His hands were occupied with a long wooden pipe, which he was puffing away at as if everything had gone according to plan. “Just put them with the others.”

Gimli looked to where Gandalf motioned. The corner was filled with tied up scouts, Sam and Frodo were keeping a careful eye upon them. Then he noticed Strider busy at a straw mat that had been dragged out, carefully stitching together one of the scout’s split open abdomen. He turned away immediately from the sight of exposed entrails, pushing the prisoners over with the others. He welcomed any act that could help to clear the gruesome image from his mind.

Once the last four men were settled in, he trundled over to where Gandalf was reclined. “Sergeant, I thought you were going to help me?”

“Well, yes, I was. But then it looked as though you had everything under control,” he seemed done with his thought and turned his attention back to puffing away at the pipe. Gimli stood there dumbfounded.

“What if they had caught on?”

“But they didn’t, did they?”

“Yes, but I—we, could’ve been injured. Or killed!” he tried to explain, becoming frustrated that Gandalf didn’t understand his concern.

Bifur hobbled forward. “But you weren’t, lad. And you can’t expect that the sergeant’s going to be able to save all of you at every moment on every battlefield, now can you, inudoy?”

Gimli stared at the old dwarf and saw in his face the wisdom of an old soldier. He was of course telling the truth. That only made his frustration embarrassing and the hurt to his pride was worse than he had thought it would be.

If he really stopped and thought about it, it was probably better that their first taste of battle come in a more closed environment. His father’s war buddies had always said the first time was the hardest and that most men died in their initial skirmish. The fact they had all survived and gained a bit of nerve boded well for all involved. It had been so much easier than he had expected it to be. Once the anxiety left him, it was nothing more than a simple movement when it came down to it.

“Now, you best go and change back into the rest of your uniform and put your axe on.”

He nodded and headed to where he had left the axe upon his bedroll. His bag was on its side and he wondered if there had been much of a skirmish inside the barracks. He would have to ask the others about it later. Gimli strapped the large battle-axe to his back and his father’s axes to his belt. Then realized that his jacket and helmet were in the inn. When he went to retrieve the lieutenant, he would put them on.

“Now then,” began Gandalf, long and slow, between intakes of smoke, “which one of you is the senior ranking officer?”

The soldier who Gimli had kicked in the manhood looked up defiantly. “That would be me. My name is Captain Angmar of the first shadow strikers. As an officer, I demand that you release us and let us see to properly repaying that... dwarf, for the kindness she showed us.”

Something in the “captain’s” tone of voice made Gimli distrust that he was offering his name or rank truthfully. He certainly had the bearing of an officer, but not a captain. Something more entitled than that. Maybe it was just the condescending way he spoke or the fact that he was a captive making demands, but there was more than met the eye about this group of scouts. If that was even what they were.

“And what kindness would that be, Captain Angmar? A free pint of your best ale? Hardly seems you could have any on you,” replied Gandalf, as if it was a natural line of conversation.

“No, you fool! She kicked me in my… well in a place no man should ever be kicked.”

The sergeant spun around to Gimli. “Private, did you kick the captain in his face?”

“No, sir, not even once sir,” he answered honestly.

“Not in the bleeding face, you idiot!”

Gandalf leaned closely towards the Captain and inspected him. “You don’t seem to be bleeding to me. Perhaps you are just tired. I understand all the fuss you’re putting up. I get it, sir, it can be quite humiliating to be captured by a bunch of new recruits who are barely more than boys.”

“He kicked me in my nethers, you blundering sack of useless flesh!” cried the Captain in frustration.

“That is quite the humiliation. Private, did you kick the captain in his nethers?”

Gimli swallowed. “Yes, sir. But just the once.”

“And why would you do such a thing to an obvious gentleman?”

“Well, sir, on account of him trying to force his will upon a lady, sir. As a note, I was disguised as a woman at the time, hence his impression that he should be forcing his will on a lady.”

“So why did you kick him in the privates, private?”

Gimli scratched his beard. “Well, sir, I… he was threatening my life and trying to get me to commit treason. I would’ve just knocked him out with the club I had, but he had my arm pinned. So I just used a free limb and lashed out.”

“Ah, well that all seems in order, then. There you are captain, we’ve gotten it all straightened out. You thought my lad here was a woman and he got you in the nadders. So everything is all squared away.”

“Nothing is squared away! Your officer, where is he? I demand to speak with your officer!”

“Very well, captain. Private Gimli, you’re the batman, could you please go and fetch Lt. Éowyn. Let him know about the situation and bring him as soon as quickly as possible.”

Gimli saluted and saw the look of relief on the face of the captain at the mention that another officer would be present.  
\---

When he arrived redressed in his entire uniform to Éowyn's door, he could hear the soft sounds of a whistling snore. He knocked lightly on the door and got no answer. He opened the door slightly and called out, “Lieutenant?”

The snore continued unabated. Gimli entered the room to find Éowyn asleep, half sitting up in the small bed, books strewn about him opened. He saw some of the titles, “Fengel’s Guide to Wartime Stratagem”, “The Legend of Helm Hammerhand”, and “Great Tales of the Rohirrim: Past to Present”. He approached the bed and tried again, “Lieutenant, it’s time to get up.”

No reaction again. He reached out and placed a hand gently on the officer’s shoulder. “Sir, you need to wake up now.”

Still, the man slept on. This was starting to look like waking his cousins. He grabbed both of the Lieutenant’s shoulders firmly and shook him, shouting, “Sir! It’s an invasion! They’ve got us surrounded!”

Éowyn sat up with a start, nearly slamming his head full force into Gimli’s forehead, but Gimli had already pulled back, expecting this as a possible consequence of such treatment.

“Where?! Give me my sword!”

Gimli kept the hands firm on the shoulders. “Sir, you were having a nightmare, are you alright?”

The man blinked and looked around the room. “Yes, yes, quite alright. What’s the situation, private? Did you say something about an invasion?”

“Well, we did intercept a scouting party as they tried to capture us, sir.”

Éowyn balked, scrambling to untangle himself from the covers. “What are we waiting for, we’ve got to fend them off!”

“It has already been taken care of sir. All nine of them have been captured and are being held in the recruit barracks.”

The lieutenant seemed to be trying to process this for a long while before he spoke again. “Any casualties?”

“All minor except for one, sir. But Strider’s got him under the knife and is patching him up,” said Gimli.

“Oh dear, how bad is it? Will our man recover?”

“Oh, he’s not one of ours. All of us came out without a scratch.”

“Uh… well… what time is it, private?” asked Éowyn, pushing a stubborn lock of frizzy blonde hair from his face.

“Nearly one o’clock, sir. But your presence is requested by the enemy captain,” Gimli urged, trying to get the officer moving before any more chaos might erupt back with the prisoners.

“Ah, very well. Where are my trousers?”

“You’re wearing them, sir.”

Éowyn blushed like a child, feeling that they were indeed on his body. Gimli could tell that he was going to have to be in charge. No wonder they needed someone to be a batman; officers, or at least this officer, didn’t seem to be able to do their job without the help.

“Alright, sir, stand up, let’s get your looking presentable, shall we?”

Just like with his cousins, he had to coach or physically assist the officer through the entire process to be ready. It may have been that the man was still not fully conscious, but Gimli just let himself move on autopilot, until at last Éowyn looked the part of the rank he held.

They returned to the barracks and Gimli didn’t know what to expect would happen next. As soon as they entered, the captain struggled to his feet, even though his arms were bound to his sides with his wrists together.

“It’s about time! You need to do something about the treatment of your prisoners!” yelled the scout leader.

Gimli was even more nervous as their officer approached the enemy, who stood almost another foot in height taller. “And how have my men mistreated you and yours, captain?”

“Well, to start, your so called Sergeant has purposefully been difficult and refuses to follow the proper chain of command.”

“Sergeant?” Éowyn glanced over to where Gandalf stood, surprised for a moment. “You and I will talk later, Sergeant,” he said, then turned back. “What exactly are you accusing him of, sir?”

“Well… he has been exceedingly difficult. And he threatened me with violence!”

The Lieutenant didn’t even look over this shoulder. “Sergeant, is this true?”

“Now, sir, if the gentleman took my safety warning as a threat of violence, that is on him.”

“I demand you free me and my men at once, Lieutenant. Then I would like some compensation for our harsh treatment and imprisonment,“ said Angmar with all seriousness.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir. Shall I start by freeing your hands?”

“But Lieutenant, the captain said they were coming for us!” cried Gimli.

“Hold your tongue,” snapped Éowyn, “You were not given permission to speak freely, private!”

The whole company gasped in shock and the Captain’s grinned twisted proudly in his victory.

As Éowyn's hands came to where the ropes were he paused and leaned in close, so that no one could hear what he said.

The smile fell from Captain Angmar’s face, his eyes widening in shock. “How dare you, sir!”

“How dare, me?! You invade our country and then when you’re captured, you have the audacity to make demands of us? You may outrank me sir, but not in this army. I owe you nothing,” snapped Éowyn, his voice growing louder and more confident as he went on, “There are rules about torture that were agreed upon by your superiors and ours, but I have heard stories that men from this very unit engage in all manner of activities that violate those same agreements. You wish for us to honor an agreement that you refuse to follow. You are all a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites! I see that one of your soldiers is even receiving medical attention. That is not something that is usually given over to the enemy and it certainly is unprecedented for aggressors of a night raid. You should be glad that my sergeant and his men are as merciful as they are. I would have done no such thing.”

“Well, there goes your chance at any pardon when our reinforcements arrive,” spat Angmar.

“Private Gimli, did you say something about the good captain looking for our unit?”

He stepped forward at attention. “Yes, sir,” replied Gimli, “said they were looking to capture us and even threatened to hurt those that would stop them.”

“You!” seethed the Captain, stepping towards Gimli.

Éowyn stepped between them. “You are a very poor loser, sir. I would expect nothing less of the enemy. And you can stop lying about reinforcements, if your mission was to seek out a small group of untrained new recruits, your superiors would hardly see a need to send you any assistance. You should have been able to take care of this on your own. But you couldn’t and there’s no one coming to help you.”

“You tell ‘im, Lieutenant!” called Pippin. When everyone turned to her, she flushed and started fidgeting with a button on her coat.

“You are so proud of your little boys here, Lieutenant Éowyn, but the truth is, you’re sending them to their deaths. You know things they don’t about the way this war is going. About how bad off your army truly is. Victory is impossible for you and yet, you are blinded by your own ambition for glory. Well, you feed these boys lies about the real purpose of this war and about that filthy dead whore of a Duchess that—“

“You lying scoundrel!” shouted Frodo as she leapt, sword drawn, towards Angmar.

“Legolas!” shouted Gandalf.

The elf had Frodo from behind, catching her under the arms out of midair before she could get close enough to do any harm to the captain.

“These are hardly a bunch of innocent untrained men!” cried one of the strikers, using his legs to scoot himself closer to the wall, “They’re bloody monsters!”

“That hurts our feelings,” said Boromir. It was a poorly disguised threat, but Éowyn ignored it.  
\-----

The shadow strikers were stripped naked and left tied up in the tavern. Pippin was given the task of disposing of the key, which she did by throwing it into the privy. It had been Merry’s idea, but she let Pippin have the honors. The sergeant had thought it a most appropriate course of action and let the two hobbits go about the task with a proud clap on the back.

The rest of them bid their farewells to Bifur, who assured them he would finally be heading home to his family now that there were going to be no more men coming for training. Outside, the Sergeant and the Lieutenant were having their talk.

The entire company felt particularly proud of themselves for their work now. The soldiers of Mordor were getting bolder; they clearly did not find any threat in the alliance army. That was not a good sign. But they had managed to defend themselves. If they were lucky, the enemy would continue to underestimate them.

“That was quite the little skirmish there. Glad to see I don’t have to be so worried about you little ones,” remarked Boromir, trying to pull a few cloth fibers out of his uniform paint.

“I would say we’ve all done far beyond expectation considering our lack of formal training,” said Pippin, puffing out her chest proudly.

“You can only say that ‘cause you had me there to save you, Pip,” said Merry crossing her arms over her chest and holding her head up proudly.

Everyone had a bit of a laugh while Pippin did a flustered sort of hand waving dance in her embarrassment.

“Still,” began Strider, taking some of the attention from Pippin, who was quite red, “a victory is a victory, no matter how we won it. And there’s no shame in pressing an advantage in battle.”

“Here, here,” replied Gimli, nodding to those wise words. He had often heard similar remarks from the soldiers that made it back from the front.

“Not to mention how incredible it is that we’re not just untrained, but that we’re untrained girls!” exclaimed Sam with a rush of excitement. The moment the words were out of her mouth they all fell into an awkward silence, the excited energy evaporating as though it had never been.

“Well, there’s no point trying to keep it a secret anymore, is it?” Sam stuttered, trying to justify her words “Most of you all already know about the four of us hobbits. And we all know each other from the shire, so there’s no sense tryin’ to deny it now.”

Frodo nodded and put an arm around Sam, who continued, “I of course don’t mean Boromir or Gimli. And I’m not sure about you Strider… Nor am I good at guessing about elves…. Oh confound it all! I’ve made a royal mess of things. I’m sorry.” She hung her head.

Boromir took a step forward, placing his large stone hand upon Sam’s back and waited for her to look up. “My real name is Braedia.”

Sam’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “But you’re…”

“Well, the thing about being a golem is, they don’t care too much about making you look pretty once you’ve given up your body. But feel no pity for me, Sam. I don’t regret my actions and I am stronger than any woman or any man in this form.”

Merry and Pippin clamored over Boromir from both sides, as though they might discover some small mark or shape that would reveal Boromir as truly female.

Once the buzz of Boromir’s confession had calmed down, Frodo gave Gimli a look.

There was something in Frodo’s eyes, something piercing that looked right into the heart of whom he was. Something felt very different about Frodo. Gimli couldn’t really articulate it, even within his own mind, but it was as though there were two people inhabiting the hobbit. One, was the young boy, well, girl, who was trying to make it in the army. But the other, the one who was currently looking out of Frodo’s large blue eyes, was very different. They were predatory and wise and a fear began to grow within him.

It was almost as if the questions were being asked to him in that glance and that the piercing gaze could interpret Gimli’s private thoughts. As much as he did not want to disclose his true identity, that stare demanded he do so. He felt like he was being bid to tell the others as much for himself as for them.

After they had stared at each other for a long moment, Gimli nodded. Everyone was sharing their true identities. What good did it do to keep it from the others, most of whom he had already been trying to help hide? Perhaps he could even inspire them to do better. There was no need to cling so dearly to his secret, when all but two of their companions shared the same fate. They were all in this together and it could only strengthen their bond to be honest.

The others turned to him as well, noticing Frodo’s rapt attentions.

He paused,his hands clasped together tightly as he tried to build courage. There was of course the part of him that longed to say it, but he had spent so much time invested into leaving the person he had been behind. The words caught in his throat once more before he could bring himself to overcome the last fears he held onto.

“Astrin,” he offered simply, unable to elaborate more.

“Wait, you too?!” cried Pippin in shock. “But you’re so…. so….”

“Dwarfish?” offered Legolas with a smirk.

“Aye, I am that” Gimli chuckled, knocking his shoulder into Legolas’ side. “And yes, even me.”

Then the others turned towards Legolas.

“Oh, is it my turn to share a secret now?” asked Legolas in an overly saccharin mock innocent voice.

The doors thrust open and the two superior officers came in. “Alright, grab your things and get ready to march. We have a lot of ground to cover tonight and we have to stay off the main roads. So let’s shake it!”

“Now just a moment, Sergeant. We have only a few weeks to get to the front lines. If we stay off the main roads we won’t make it in time. Orders are orders, after all.”

“In that case, even more reason to get moving quickly. We want to get as far as we can before dawn’s first light. Let’s go lads!”

“Not too many lads around, if we’re being honest,” said the elf under his breath. Gimli put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Private, you seem to think you’re clever, do you?” the sergeant asked, striding towards the elf.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” came the cool reply.

“Good. I can’t stand dumb people in power. Since you have the keenest senses and seem the most gentlemanly one here, I am promoting you to Corporal. We need one on this mission and congratulations that’s you. It means of course you’ll be getting an extra gold piece with your monthly salary, if you ever get the blasted thing in the first place. Welcome to responsibility.”  
\-----

The ten of them set out on horseback with what horses had been left behind by the Shadow Strikers. Some of them had gotten away, or locals had stolen them, more likely. It was not a problem however, since none of the hobbits or Gimli knew how to ride and Boromir would break a horse’s back if he tried. Strider rode with Frodo and Sam, Éowyn took Merry, and Gandalf took Pippin. He wondered to himself if Gandalf wasn’t trying to keep a closer eye on the troublesome hobbit, but he said nothing.

Boromir brought up the rear of their company and although he wasn’t as fast as the horses were, he did not need to stop and caught up quickly when the horses were made to rest. Both the Lieutenant and the Sergeant liked the idea of Boromir making sure they weren’t being followed, in light of their last encounter.

Gimli was himself more worried about keeping himself on the huge animal than on if they were being followed. He felt confident now that he could swing his axe and bring down on a foe. But balancing on the large steed was beyond his comfort zone.

At first Legolas had suggested that Gimli ride in front of him so he could get used to the reins and be kept in place. But the idea of having the elf’s long arms wrapped around him seemed too intimate and embarrassing and so Gimli insisted that he ride behind.

After a few times where only the deft movements of an elf saved him from winding up on the ground, Gimli grudgingly tucked his thumbs into the back of Legolas’ belt. He didn’t want to admit it, but besides the obvious security it provided, feeling the heat beneath his hands seem to warm his entire body against the chill of the night. Must’ve been some sort of Elven magic, he told himself and tried to ignore the delicate curve of the back of Legolas’ neck as it peeked out here or there from beneath the cascade of ashen tresses.

When they stopped around dawn to make camp, Gimli felt the conflicting emotions of deep relief and sorrow at the separation. He threw himself into his duties of polishing the Lieutenant’s sword and seeing that his tent was set up. Strider was put on the task of dealing with the horses, since he had so much experience. The hobbits busied themselves with meal preparations, and Legolas and Boromir, being without exhaustion from the long ride, went on the first shift of watches.

Gimli returned to the fireside once his duties were complete and found sergeant Gandalf smoking, his booted feet crossed at the ankle propped up on a log.

“Sarg, can I ask you something?”

“What is it private?”

“Those scouts that we captured…” Gimli paused wanting to make sure he worded things properly with how prone to evading the real question the sergeant was. “Who do you think they were? Who were they really?”

“What? You don’t believe they were really Shadow Strikers?” the grey-eyed stare bore into Gimli and he knew this was a test.

“I am not saying that some of them may not have been. But that Captain was certainly not a captain. He was something of higher rank.”

“What makes you think that, Private Gimli?”

“The way he held himself. There was more pride than just a Captain would have. Plus the way he spoke; the entitlement in his words. That was a man not used to taking orders from much of anyone. “

Gandalf gave him a wide grin. “You are quite right.”

“So who were they really?” he asked.

The sergeant shrugged. “Who’s to say? They are in our past now, aren’t they?”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. “But what if they come back? They said they were looking for us.”

“Don’t you trust your fellow man, private?”

“It’s not them I worry about. If this is really an elite group of fighters, then who knows what they will do now that we’ve provoked them. We are not trained, Sarg. We did well in an ambush, but if they make the first move, what will we do?”

Gandalf leaned back and laughed heartily. “You’re a good soldier, Gimli. You keep steering your officers in the right direction and you’re gonna live a long time in this army. You will make a good officer yourself one day.”

He smiled. The sly old bastard really meant it. Gimli hadn’t realized it, but he was a pretty keen observer of people. It probably was that the Sergeant was letting him see, but he was content to accept that for now.

The hobbits came back from their trip to gather local herbs and mushrooms for dinner, Pippin trying to hide the fact he was already digging into their finds.

Gimli helped them set up the cast iron cooking pot and gather water for the stew. Pippin was made to peel onions and Merry chopped them. Frodo dealt with herbs and Sam started on the meat, leftovers from the night before.

Once the Lieutenant had been given his meal, Gimli took bowls to Boromir and Legolas. He wasn’t sure if either of them really ate, but the gesture of inclusion was important nevertheless.

Boromir ate the whole thing in one gulp, but apologized that he had no way to taste the food. As it turned out, golems didn’t eat food, but rather, they consumed stone and metal.

“Well, I don’t have to bring you any more bowls of stew then. I’ll try to find you some rocks instead,” said Gimli, with a wink.

“Actually, I like feeling like a part of the group,” admitted Boromir. “It’s been so long since I felt like I had anywhere to go where I was accepted as more than an object. I want to eat Sam’s cooking, he worked hard to make it, I’m sure. Those little hobbits put so much care into their food. If you find any pebbles or metal shavings though, I’d like to slip them into my food.”

Gimli leaned down and picked up a pebble he found, handing it to Boromir. “I’ll collect them whenever we stop for rest. We gotta keep your strength up, after all. You are our first line of defense out here.”

Boromir reached out a hand and placed it on Gimli’s shoulder. It made him feel small by comparison, but he knew that within that huge hard exterior, was a small girl who was frightened. She had sacrificed so much to get here and Gimli was not about to let her feel like less than the towering warrior that she was.

“Well, I for one feel safer having your along with us. We wouldn’t be properly representing the diversity of our land if we didn’t have at least one proper Golem warrior with us. Now, I best go and give the elf his soup. We don’t have Corporal Sméagol around as an alternative if he gets hungry.”

Boromir chuckled. “That’s the only pity about him not being around, isn’t it? And no spare parts for Strider, either.”

Gimli slapped his knee. “You know, you are the funniest golem I have ever met.”

“I’m probably the only one you’ve ever met.”

“Aye. But I bet you’re still the funniest. Have an uneventful rest of your watch.”

Boromir grinned.

It took Gimli a while to track down where Legolas was. He wouldn’t have found him at all except that as he approached one area, a path seemed to spring from nowhere that looked to have some sort of party going on at the other end.

The smell of campfire smoke filled his nostrils. Was that the sound of drums he could hear?

He tried to skirt the revelry as best as he could when he heard giggling up in the treetops besides him.

“Legolas, tell me that’s you,” called Gimli softly in the direction he thought the sound had come from. He didn’t want to take any chances in case this was an ambush.

“What is the matter, Traveler? You’re not interested in joining us at our feast? We have plenty to share,” came the high notes of a woman’s voice, echoing from the trees all around.

Gimli’s hand went to the hilt of one of his father’s hand axes, his thumb unclasping the stay.

“Join us in our merriment, Gimli, son of Gloin. Come feast and drink and dance with us.”

Witchcraft. Gimli had heard that many of the woods of middle earth were filled with enchanters and elves that waited to prey upon you, flesh or soul. If there were elves, was it possible that Legolas would forego his duty to speak with them? Surely the elf he knew was more honorable than that. And yet, who would be able to freely cast such magic while Legolas was around without him giving word to the others about it? Legolas knew that warning them of danger was a priority, so what was really going on?

The lights of the party and the sounds of music grew stronger. The smell of meat roasting over a fire made his mouth water, despite having just eaten a filling meal. At least the hobbits were far from such temptations.

The figure of a pale woman, with a head of cascading blonde curls and blue eyes that shone like sapphires approached. She was dressed in deep green silks and held her long thin arm out to him. “Will you not accept my invitation? We would be honored for you to join in our festivities”

Gimli could not deny that she was beautiful and that he felt drawn to her clear soft voice. But he knew that this could not be real. No matter how drawn he felt, he needed to resist. “Milady, I fear that this is all an illusion and I have duties that I must perform. If you will excuse me,” he turned to go and her hand reached out and grasped his.

The moment they connected, he felt a familiarity. His fingers closed around hers and pulled her towards him, gazing up into her face. There was something in her eyes that he knew. He knew her.

“Legolas?”

She let out the same giggle that he had heard from the trees, and placed her arms around him, beginning to dance.

He held onto her firmly, keeping the one hand with the bowl of dinner in it out of the way of her movements. Eventually when he wouldn’t join her, she stopped, a sad look crossing her fair features.

“I’ve brought you your meal. Are you going to eat it, or shall I return to camp?”

Her face soured as she sighed. “You’re no fun at all!”

Slowly the figure reverted until Legolas stood before him, as he knew him to look.

“You know, I almost attacked you. What were you doing trying to use enchantment on me?” exclaimed Gimli, his free arm gesturing widely. He hoped the berating would do the elf some good.

Legolas shrugged. “Just testing the defenses I set up. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to use my powers like this. When did you figure out it was me?” The lights, music, and smells of food were dissipating into the dim light of the dawning day.

Gimli opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, his cheeks warming in the cool morning.

“Well?”

“When you took my hand,” admitted Gimli, grudgingly.

Legolas’ head tilted to the side like a bird, his ears twitching.

“Well, you took my hand when you helped me onto the horse before. And… there was something about it that felt the same. Then I noticed it was the same look in your eyes both times.”

Legolas’ eyes widened, his long ears flattening back, and the cool morning breeze turned hot.

It was like the last night they had talked.

“I have a question for you, if you don’t mind,” said Gimli

“Sure,” replied Legolas, his voice wavering.

“Do elves use anything other than words to communicate? That is, what unspoken communication do elves use? Like, we dwarves for instance use our hands a lot when we speak to add to how we talk. Do elves do anything like that?”

As Gimli spoke he felt the air getting warmer and he thought he knew the answer without needing it confirmed.

“Well, yes. Our posture and the movement of our ears is used very similarly to how many mortals use exaggerating facial expressions or hand gestures. Why do you ask?”

“I just thought since we will be spending a lot of time together that we should try to eliminate some of our possible miscommunications, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense then….”

Gimli found it odd that the usually snarky and talkative elf was suddenly being so quiet.

“Look, I—“

A hand shot out across his face, covering his mouth.

Gimli’s hand returned to his axe.

“Someone’s approaching,” whispered Legolas, a thick fog forming around them until Gimli could only faintly make out the elf’s silhouette.

He set the bowl of stew to the side and turned in the direction Legolas had faced. He was not going to be taken without a fight and they had the advantage of surprise.

The sounds of far off music started faintly in one direction and Gimli hoped it would be a good enough distraction.

“Come out here, boys! You’ve had enough time playing games.” It was the sound of the sergeant’s voice and it meant business.

The fog and music ceased as Gandalf’s tall form approached. They both stood to attention.

“I let you go out to deliver food and I find you partying in the trees. Legolas, you’re a corporal, you need to be setting a positive model for the troops. Don’t make me regret promoting you. And Private, I just expect better.”

“I’m sorry, Sarg. I accidentally wandered into one of Legolas’ defenses and—“

“It’s been an hour. Don’t leave camp for more than 20 minutes without checking back in. These are dangerous times and—“

A shriek came from the direction of the camp. All three turned and started to run back.

“Corporal, stay here in case it’s a diversion! Let Boromir know to hold his position too, I know you can take care of that!”

Gimli and Gandalf continued back, weapons drawn. Strider was beating back a hooded figure with his sword and Éowyn was nowhere to be seen.

The hobbits were all shouting at once and Gimli looked around, trying to listen past the din of the bustle to make sure there were no others coming for them. Gandalf was shouting too, but it soon silenced the others.

“You’ll all be taken care of soon enough, corpse man!” hissed the man in Strider’s grasp, “Even if you kill me, another will take my place. We are beyond death and you will all bow before the might of Mordor, lest you perish in agony.”

Strider stuck the tip of his blade into the man’s hipbone, the man letting out a scream.

“I know well enough how to harm a man endlessly without killing him. I suggest that you tell me what I want to know before I start removing parts.” As he spoke, his hood slipped off his head to reveal his half rotten face. It was clear that were it not for the flesh decomposing and falling from his cheeks and nose, he might be quite handsome.

The man in his grip just laughed, even as his eyes watered from the pain. “I do not fear you or your accursed line. And now that I see you, I know who you are, daughter of Arathorn. And when I tell the others of—“

In what appeared to be a single fluid movement, Strider kicked the man back and decapitated him. The head rolled until it came to a stop at Éowyn's feet.

The lieutenant kicked it away in fear. “Private, what are you doing?!”

Strider gave him a glance up and down. “The same as you have already done, sir. Eliminated the enemy.”

The lieutenant looked a bit flustered. “Yes, right. Well… get this cleaned up. Then I want you to go around to every—“

“A word, if you would, Lieutenant,” said Gandalf, interrupting. “Private Frodo has a wound that would be best if Strider took a look at. Seems like the dagger might have been poisoned, can’t be sure.”

Gimli threw his weapon back into its holster and ran over to where Sam was cradling Frodo gently in her lap. Her chubby little hands were holding a bundle of cloth scraps to the other hobbit’s shoulder.

“Wounded?” cried Éowyn. “Strider! See to Frodo at once. Pippin and Gandalf, check the northern perimeter. Merry, come with me, we check the south. Private Gimli, make sure no one interrupts private Strider at his work.”

With orders given everyone split up. Gimli paced circles around where Sam and Strider worked away at Frodo’s wound, an axe in each hand. He could not help but keep glancing to their injured companion. Strider had given Frodo some sort of elixir to take care of the pain, but it took a while to be effective. For a while, he was thankful that the screams had ceased. But the longer he heard no sounds from the small form, the greater his fear grew.

But there was nothing a dwarf like him, who knew only of running an inn and a bit about swinging an axe, could do to help. He just had to make sure those that could were kept safe.

“Strider, is he going to pull through?” asked Gimli, his fears getting the better of him.

The ranger gave him a smile, which would have been reassuring if the rotten flesh at the corner of his mouth wasn’t flapping in the night breeze.

“She’s strong despite her small size. The poison was highly concentrated, but we caught it fast enough to prevent it from doing too much damage internal. There will be a scar and a lot of pain for the next couple weeks, but she will live.”

“You hear that, Mr. Frodo? You’re going to be fine!”

“Yes, Sam. I heard,” said the trembling voice of Frodo, barely more than a rasping whisper. “You don’t have to call me ‘Mr.’ anymore, Sam. Everyone here knows.”

Sam beamed down at her companion as Strider dug around through his pack.

“Glad we have you, Strider,” Gimli said honestly.  
\-----

The sun was already climbing high in the sky by the time Gimli saw the tall thin figure of Legolas break through the trees to the edge of the camp.

“ It seems that they have all run. We should be safe for—“ The elf stopped, his eyes widen at the sight of Frodo.

“He was injured, but Strider says he’ll make a full recovery. One of those blasted riders stabbed him with a poisoned dagger,” explained Gimli.

The elf’s whole body began to tremble and the sky seemed to darken as if clouds suddenly covered the sun.

“Legolas? Are you alright?”

A hand immediately flew over his face and he turned from the others. “I’m sorry. The sight and smell of the blood…. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a drink.”

Gimli walked towards him and placed an arm companionably upon the elf’s arm.

Legolas wretched away from the touch as if Gimli had burnt him. “Don’t touch me!” he cried, his hand falling from his face for a moment. In that instance Gimli saw his eyes, not blue as usual, but glowing gold. His skin was greyer, too, he noticed.

“Legolas….”

“Stay back! I… I just need a moment.”

Strider pushed past Gimli. “Legolas, when was your last stay?”

“I…” the elf shifted uneasily, seemingly a bit disoriented. “The morning after we joined, I think? Maybe once on the road, but just a sip.”

“I’ve seen you use liquid. Ethanol was it?”

“Uh… yes.”

“Sam, toss me your Sherry,” called Strider over his shoulder.

“But Mr. Strider, that’s for the meat for tomorrow’s breakfast,” pleaded the hobbit, holding the small bottle dearly.

“Sam!” said Strider with a voice so deep and commanding the hobbit tossed it straight in the air in his surprise.

The ranger reached out and caught the glass. Then he pressed the bottle into Legolas’ hand. “Drink this down. Probably not as good as what you’re used to, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

The slender hands fumbled with the stopper for a moment and Strider steadied his movements, helping with the mechanism.

It took only a moment once the bottle was opened for it to be drained. The dark clouds began to recede, the bright light of the sun beaming back down on them all once more.

Legolas’ breathing eased and he stood up straight, letting the sunlight warm his face. When his eyes opened, Gimli was thankful to see they were blue again.

A great relief filled Gimli and he let go the grip on his axe. Moving his fingers hurt, his muscles sore from how tightly he had unknowingly held the hilt.

He realized there were a few things he hadn’t really thought about. Sure, you heard of how dangerous elves were, but to see the beginning of the transformation was beyond what a tale could prepare you for. And in the tales, the bloodlust was part of their nature they embraced. But Gimli could see how much Legolas had forced himself to resist.

He hadn’t realized how easily he had dismissed that part of who Legolas was. The elf always made everything seem effortless, as though any task were possible by thought alone. And yet, if he had to fight that hard to prevent his instincts from overcoming him, perhaps it wasn’t quite as carefree a thing as Gimli had first assumed.

It must have been difficult for an elf to travel around all these mortals. The smell and sight of food you denied yourself would be everywhere, wouldn’t it? And if you cared for a person who was mortal, spending time with them was no doubt dangerous. What could that sort of life be like? All Gimli had had to worry about before now was if the ale shipments arrived on time and if there was enough meat for the kitchen each night.

“How are you feeling?” asked Strider, a hand resting on Legolas’ shoulder.

“Much better, thank you.”

“I must say I am surprised to see you so affected by so little blood.”

Legolas nudged a rock with the toe of his boot. “I have been using more of my powers than I have in a while. I think it’s affecting me.”

“How often do you usually go between stays?” inquired Strider, scrutinizing the features of the fairer man’s face.

Legolas smiled. “Usually a week or more. But I’ve been trying to ration my supply while we’re on the road. It’s hard to get good wine when you go east.”

“Might I suggest you make some quick wine while we go and forego worrying about the flavor?”

The elf let out his flippant laugh, causing Sam to shift uncomfortably. “In addition to the bottle I brought, I have a brew already going in my luggage for just such a purpose.”

“Is everything alright now?” asked Sam, in a small voice.

“Yes, it’s all alright,” replied Gimli, turning to Legolas, the way Strider was eyeing him put him at less ease than he would have liked.

Legolas nodded. “There is nothing left to fear. Thank you for your sherry, Sam. Sorry about breakfast.”

“Why of course!” The hobbit straightened up. “I’m sure glad you’re on our side, Mr. Legol—Corporal Legolas!” she corrected quickly.

The elf’s ears twitched. “Boromir’s back.”

“Guess he didn’t find anything more either,” Gimli said.  
\-----

Once everyone had arrived back to camp Gimli pieced together the full series of events.

The enemy had managed to track them down; most likely as a result of the tracks they left in the mud. They hadn’t caught up to them until some time after Legolas and Boromir had gone on watch and they had approached near where Boromir was, but stayed out of his way enough to slip towards the camp. There they waited until Éowyn was in his tent and Gandalf had left to find him. They figured the hobbits and Strider on left alone were enough to take on on their own.

Éowyn killed one of the men who fled. Aragorn another.

They were unable to catch any of the ones who had run away and Éowyn was adamant that everyone did their watch shifts in pairs from now. He had them march an hour southwest of their position to set up a new camp, traveling only along the river, where they would leave no tracks. Legolas set up an illusion around their camp to help throw off any others that might try to find them.

Gimli knew it was necessary, but in light of the earlier incident with the elf, he wasn’t sure how much Legolas should use his magic. If he could see any other option, he would suggest it to the Lieutenant. But already Frodo had gotten hurt. And it was plain to see that traveling, even on horse, was difficult for him.

When at last neither he nor Legolas were on watch, he sat besides the elf at the fire.

The pale head dipped. “I was very foolish to have used my tricks on you, Gimli. It turned out more dangerously than I had planned. We are at war, after all. I was far too careless.”

Gimli felt for the elf, but making excuses was no kindness. “It was very foolish to start with, but even more so if it puts yourself or others in danger. Does this always happen when you see blood?”

Legolas shook his head. “Like I said before, usually it’s just a momentary temptation. Even if Strider hadn’t given me the Sherry, I could have gotten myself under control, but it takes a while if I go too long. Things have just been going so fast, I suppose I didn’t realize how long I had gone without my stay, nor how soon I would be needing it. Usually I start to feel the thirst slowly building and I know to have a glass.”

“So, it’s using magic that makes it more difficult?” asked Gimli, trying to understand.

“Well, using magic means tapping into nature around me. It usually takes very little concentration or energy for me. But, this forest is different, somehow,” explained Legolas, while scooping up a small beetle from where it was crawling across the stump he sat on. He watched it move across his fingers for a bit before he set it back down.” This place is so very old and full of the memories of many an age. The trees here are more wild and less willing to listen to my request.”

“Your request?” Gimli rested his chin on his fist as he listened.

His fair companion scrunched up his face. “How can I explain? Well, our magic, we don’t really directly control what’s going on around us. Everything has it’s own life and will. Instead we ask for the plants or animals to do things for us.”

Gimli chuckled. “Well, why would they want to do that?” he teased.

Legolas smiled. “You’re absolutely right. Nothing is for free in this world. In my home forest of course, my people care for all that is contained within our borders. In return the living creatures will do an elf’s bidding. It’s a sort of symbiotic relationship.”

“I see. So, here they don’t trust you to care for them then? Or what do you do to convince them?”

“The whole place resists lending me its strength. It nearly refuses to listen to me at all. I don’t know what happened to make the spirits here more belligerent, but it means I have to go deeper into myself to command their attention. The only thing I can offer they will accept it is my own energy. I tell it what I need and it works through my spirit. But I have to pull at the oldest elements of my nature to succeed. Prolonged periods of tapping into myself like that make it harder to control my instincts. My former self begins to take over a little.”

Gimli listened with rapt attention. His mind couldn’t wrap itself around what such an experience would be like. Elves were so intertwined with the natural world. To him it just looked like Legolas made things happen. It seems to occur in a fraction of a second. But there was so much more that went into it.

“That’s amazing,” he said before he realized the words were even out of his mouth.

Legolas looked over to Gimli sheepishly and a warm breeze blew past them.

Gimli smiled.

The elf turned to him. “What are you smiling like that about?”

His grin widened. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Legolas turned to him. “You find something about this funny?”

Gimli’s hands came up in protest. “No, not at all.”

“Then what are you grinned about like a touched troll?”

“It’s really nothing,” he tried to explain.

He saw a pout grow on the pale features of his comrade’s face.

“It’s just… you were blushing!”

The clearing got even warmer. “I was not!” shouted the elf.

Gimli shrugged. “I suppose I just misunderstood your non-verbal communication then,” he replied, a small curve at the corners of his lips betraying his true feelings.

“Well, you would have too if you’d seen the look upon your stubborn dwarfish face when you said that so seriously and suddenly.”

“I didn’t make a face,” said Gimli, his eyebrows knitting together. He could feel the heat rising to his own cheeks and crossed his arms over his chest.

Legolas leaned back on the stump smugly. “Oh, of course not. You made no face. And so of course, I didn’t blush.”

He grumbled and was about to retort when Strider and Merry arrived from their shift. Legolas rose like a feather caught on an updraft and went with Sam for their turn on guard duty, giving a sly smile over his shoulder in Gimli’s direction.

Gimli swore that this was not the end of their conversation. He would have his pride avenged. Stupid smug elf.  
\-----

Gimli awoke from his turn to sleep feeling cold as if he had slept in the snow. He squinted against the bright sunlight and turned towards the noise, pulling his blanket tightly around him. It felt like a winter’s night, not a brisk early fall afternoon.

His eyes opened fully when he saw it was Legolas, holding something in his shaking hands.

“Legolas? Are you alright?”

“My wine. Someone’s stolen all of my bottles. And the brew I had going is…” the long thin arm held out a quivering handful of shattered glass.

Gimli sat up and looked at it more closely, hoping there might be a clue somewhere. “Has anyone been around your bag?”

Legolas’ eyes flashed golden for a moment. “Pippin. If he has stolen my wine…”

Gimli gripped the elf’s shoulder tightly. “Don’t even start down the path yet.”

Then a stray memory came to him. After the skirmish with the Shadow Strikers, he did notice his bag had been moved.

He went to his bag and started tearing through it. When he reached the bottom of his pack, his heart sank. It was missing.

An icy hand grabbed Gimli’s forearm. “What was stolen?”

“My hair,” he said under his breath.

“Your hair?”

“The parts that I had cut off to fill out my beard. I brought the extra just in case, but now they are missing.”

“But why would someone want my wine and your hair?” asked Legolas, bewildered.

“Sméagol…” he muttered. Something in his gut knew that when that slimy creature ran off into the night that he took some trophies. The coward had hated all of them.

“You think the old corporal did this?”

“Think about it. He didn’t want you to be able to join. He hated me for beating him. Oh no! We need to get to Frodo.”

They both rushed out of the tent and ran into sergeant Gandalf. “Where are you two going in such a rush?”

“Some items are missing from our packs, we wanted to check with the others if they had missing items, sir,” Gimli replied, standing to attention although he knew he didn’t need to.

Gandalf nodded gravely. “Some serious accusations. Especially if someone is accused of stealing. You best all do this together. We’re about to move out anyhow. I’ll go get Sam from his watch and send him to you. We want to get this sorted out as quickly as possible. Go let the others know what’s happening. And I want this all settled before we break down camp in 20 minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” they both saluted and continued towards the fire. Merry and Boromir were off to one side of camp, keeping watch. Strider was giving Frodo a check over. Pippin was in theory helping Strider with disposing of the soiled bandages, but it looked more like she was playing with the cloth scraps as they blackened and spat in the fire pit.

They gathered everyone to the tent where their things were kept and everyone had their turn looking in their bags. Everyone was missing something except for Boromir, who didn’t have a bag or possessions to be stolen from. It was almost exclusively the keepsakes everyone had kept from when they lived as women.

“I found this the night of the attack,” said Merry, holding up a tin badge. It was a sort of bizarre diamond shaped thing, with a fish on it. “My bag had been on it’s side with the stuff falling out. I had thought it was just Pippin rummage through my stuff looking for food again, but I saw this amongst my things. I held onto it, just in case it had some sort of value.”

Strider took up the small thing in his hands, turning it over a couple times, nodding to himself. “This is definitely the old corporal’s. This is a badge for the 59th pike men. I remember seeing corporal Sméagol shining it with a cloth whenever he thought no one was looking.

This new evidence confirmed Gimli’s suspicions that it was Sméagol who had stolen from them.

“So now what do we do? That slimy bastard’s out there somewhere with all our stuff!” yelled Merry, who was really coming into her own when it came to cursing.

“I think the best thing we can do,” started Gimli, “is to make sure that we keep an eye out for him as we go. If he’s the one who told the Strikers where we were and he stole our things, there’s no telling what he may be up to or if he’s following us.”

“I’ve heard him,” came Frodo’s strained voice.

Sam rushed to Frodo’s side and helped her to sit up. “What are you talking about, Mr. Frodo?”

“When I stop to listen for the Duchess sometimes, when things are quiet and all is still. He’s been following us. It was he who told the last group of scouts where we were too.”

“How do you know this?” asked Gimli.

“The Duchess told me. She sees all that has happened, is happening, and what is to come.”

“Did you know that he was going to steal from us and set the enemy against the company?” asked Boromir.

“The Duchess does not want to alter our fates. She tells me only as or after these things have come to pass or to tell me how to be prepared,” Frodo answered, her pale face defiant.

“That’s obvious. I mean, he got stabbed, didn’t he? If she’d told Frodo about that, you think he would’ve let himself get stabbed?” Merry asked Boromir.

“Yes,” Frodo said.

“Yes, what?” asked Merry.

“When the man grabbed my arm, she whispered in my ear that I would not make it through this unscathed. But she also told me not to worry, for the Ranger would make sure that I lived.”

Strider turned to Frodo. “What are you telling us? That you let yourself get hurt?”

“I fought as I would have. But as I saw the blade coming my way, I knew there was no way to avoid it. All I could do was to try to minimize my injury.”

Gimli looked on incredulously. If he had been told by a power he truly believed in that he was going to be injured, would he have accepted his fate? Or would he have fought it? Gimli could not imagine believing in something strong enough to let himself take the injury. Sure, he had had the voice of his own self-doubt tell him he wouldn’t make it. But this was very different.

“Where is the traitorous coward now?” growled Legolas, “We should hunt him down and kill him before he causes us any more trouble.”

“I thought of that before too,” explained Frodo, “but the Duchess told me that he has a part to play in all of this yet. But he will not go unpunished for his crimes.”

“This is all ridiculous! I agree with corporal Legolas. Let’s go find that bastard and kill him,” said Pippin.

A hand came to rest on Pippin’s shoulder. “Do not be so quick to dole out death, Private,” came the voice of the sergeant, “there will be enough killing and death soon, lads. More than you will be able to stomach, most of you.”

“I er… that is…,” Pippin stammered, looking for anyone else to help her.

“Did you get everything sorted out then?” asked Gandalf, leaning in close to Pippin’s face. “Nothing stolen?”

“Yes, Sarg! It’s all sorted!” Pippin squeaked, before anyone else could reply.

“Good, good. We are moving out now, so finish breaking down this tent, cover the fire, and let’s get on with it. It’s nearly dark out already.”

As soon as the sergeant was gone, Merry smacked Pippin on the back of her head. “Now why’d you have to go and say that for?”

“It was the way he was leaning in at me. I wasn’t allowed to say no!”

“Well, I’m gonna take care of the fire!” said Merry, taking up her bag and shook her head in disappointment, walking out of the tent.

Gimli placed a hand on the little fellow’s shoulder, feeling sorry for the girl. After all, Pippin was the youngest and smallest of all of them. She clearly was still in need of some guidance and reassurance. “You did what any one of us would have done. And the sergeant only wanted us to make sure no one in the company was a thief, I am sure he knows more than he is letting on. Merry will figure it out soon enough. You’ll see.”

Pippin gave him a weary smile. “I hope so,” she said, shoving her hands deep within her trouser pockets.

Boromir leaned down to Pippin. “Why don’t you help me with the tent? It will help you get your mind off of things.”

The hobbit nodded, threw her pack over her shoulder, trundling out. Sam hefted both her and Frodo’s packs and Boromir scooped up Frodo up gingerly in her stone hand and carried her out after the hobbits.

“Legolas, is it really true that all of your wine and brewing equipment was destroyed?” asked Strider in hushed tones.

The elf nodded solemnly and began to scoop the broken shards of glass out of his wine stained bag. Strider pulled out some fabric scraps Gimli could only assumed were held on to for bandages, and wrapped up the glass so they could bury it with their fire.

“Everything smells of yeast and the wine I can not drink. What a waste!” Legolas lamented, looking at the liquid on his fingers.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice something was wrong sooner,” said Gimli, curious about how the keen senses of an elf could miss something like that.

“I thought you might ask that,” Legolas replied and laughed wryly. He set a pair of cylindrical stones wrapped in what must have once been fine shirts on the ground besides his remaining things, including a broken mirror and a comb. The white of comb’s elk ivory was now peppered with purple splotches.

Strider looked even more serious than normal, something that Gimli hadn’t thought possible. “I have some disinfectant that is partially ethanol. It’s got a mix of other things in it, but if it comes down to it, it may be a good backup if we get desperate.”

Legolas nodded. “If either of you notice things getting bad, we should talk about a contingency plan. Just in case this disinfectant doesn’t work.”

A curly brown head peeped into the entranceway. “Do you gentlemen mind exiting the tent?” Merry said in mock scolding tones. “We are trying to pack up this camp, after all.”

“We will continue this talk when we make camp again,” Strider said, assuredly.

They all made their way out of the tent and Gimli helped to bury Legolas’ bundle of broken glass in the leavenings of their fire pit.

As soon as they had covered all signs of their stay, they mounted their horses and set off into the dusk. This time as they rode, Gimli hooked his hands around the sides of Legolas’ belt. He did not know what he could do to give the elf comfort. For a little while he hummed one of the lullabies his mother would sing to him when he would wake with a nightmare and he felt Legolas relax in front of him, bit by bit.

After many hours riding Gimli fell asleep and only awoke when his hand was shook. He looked around for a moment and saw that it was starting to grow light once more.

“Are we about to break to make camp then?” Gimli asked, leaning forward so his words could be heard.

Legolas nodded and slid his fingers out from where they were laced together with Gimli’s.

Gimli wasn’t even sure who had initiated the gesture or when, but he could tell that it was something special between them. He was glad they were riding in the rear this time.

When at last they did stop for the day, Legolas slid from their horse as though he had never been on it to begin with. Gimli began to slide his one leg over to the same side as other, when he felt the slender hands lift him up in the air.

“What are you doing?!” he shouted in alarm as he was held in the air. The others turned from where they were dismounting.

“You’re just so small I thought you could use the help,” Legolas retorted with a sly grin.

“Put me down!” grumbled Gimli, feeling very exposed.

The hobbits snickered. They all need assistance get off the tall horses themselves, so he did not know what about it was so funny for them.

“Very well,” Legolas answered, making a big show of placing him down.

“Next time you try something like that, I’ll pick you up and see how you like it!” he threatened point a finger up at the elf.

Strider rolled his eyes and helped Frodo off the horse, taking extra care of her injury.

Gimli realized that Legolas was putting on a show. He just had to find a way of exposing it.  
\-----

The next two weeks on the road were uneventful. The hobbits managed to find some berries that had fermented on the vine and mashed them up with a little bit of water to help Legolas keep up his strength from using his enchantments. Merry and Pippin grew very close with Boromir, who taught them some basic defense strategies when there was spare time in camp. Sam spent a lot of time learning how to set up traps and take care of injuries from Strider. Frodo, who was mostly healed, seemed more withdrawn than Gimli had seen her before, but the hobbit took turns learning from Strider and Boromir when they could. Lieutenant Éowyn spent most evenings in his tent pouring over the area maps and making notes about the best routes.

However, on a few rare occasions he offered to teach some basic swordcraft to the hobbits himself and the man was surprisingly patient and careful as a teacher. Gimli did the occasional sparring practice with the girls as well, but it never gave him much excitement. That all changed when Legolas offered to try a friendly duel with him. Then he finally felt free to really utilize his skills. He didn’t need to hold back the way he did with the hobbits.

The sparring started as a sort of stress relief and bit of a show. They mocked each other and threw soft insults. Merry and Pippin took bets on who would win each round.

Legolas had much less practice with his weapons. Apparently living deep within an elven forest meant you had little danger to threaten you. Still, his speed and reflexes were match enough. He could read even the slightest body language and predict moves ahead.

But Gimli had some actual practice with his weapons and where he lacked speed, his strength was able to fill in. After a few rounds he was able to learn the patterns that Legolas preferred to move in and even to see what the kinds of actions a slight bend of the elbow or a turn of the wrist could become.

The matches became longer and harder to win, each learning the other’s abilities. Gimli was becoming as familiar with the way that Legolas’ body moved in a fight as he was with his own. He supposed it was only natural after they spent so much time together.

Although the Lieutenant never seemed to pay much attention to what they did in camp, Sergeant Gandalf was always involved. While Éowyn spent nearly all of his time in his tent, strategizing, Gandalf was in charge of their management and assigning their duties. For a time, the sparring matches were simply a way to train, exercise, and generally blow off steam. But soon, the two were using all their free time facing each other in mock battle. That was when the sergeant made his protests. It wasn’t about them getting to practice fighting, or building the strength and coordination to wield their weapons. The sergeant said his real concern in the many bouts they fought was with Legolas being involved. Gandalf argued that fighting and working enchantments at the same time meant that the elf wasn’t able to properly concentrate on either.

Gimli was quick to protest the idea. He had seen Legolas multitask without any incident and he never seemed to give anything less than one hundred percent in their matches while still holding up their defenses fine. A small part of himself knew it was selfish, but he enjoyed their fights so much he did not want to see them end.

The next time they sparred however, Gimli realized that perhaps the sergeant was right. He didn’t notice anything at first, but as they got deeper into their match, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the barrier fog, which was usually so thick, was dissipating to wispy tendrils of mist.

“Gimli!” cried Strider.

As he turned his attention back to the fight, the thin edge of one of Legolas’ knives crossed his vision close to his face.

The elf’s eyes widened and he threw the blades down. A cold wind began to howl through the camp, sending shivers down everyone’s spines.

Strider was by his side in an instant, already fishing things out of the satchel on his hip. Gimli let out a breath as he felt a trail of sweat roll down his face.

“Here, hold this to the wound,” the ranger said, handing him a square of astringent smelling bandage.

“I’m fine, Strider,” Gimli replied, trying not to stare so openly at the gap in the man’s cheek where the bone shone through.

Strider took Gimli’s hand, pressed the bandage into it, and moved it to his cheek. There was an instant sting of pain.

“There’s a numbing disinfectant on the bandage. It will take a couple of minutes to take effect, so it may sting until then. I am going to check on Legolas, but keep the pressure on that until I tell you to stop.”

Gimli held the neatly folded cloth in place and wiped off his sweat that was making his beard itch with the other hand. His fingers came away crimson, coated in his blood. The elven blades were sharper than they appeared.

Gimli saw Strider lead Legolas away from the group and they stayed gone for a time before returning. In the interim, Sam took at look at the wound and, when it was numb enough, administered a couple of stitches to the spot on his cheek.

“It’s a good thing Mr. Strider called to you when he did. I fear you might have ended up being able to eat through the side of your face otherwise,” Sam said, rambling as usual when she was working on a task in otherwise silence.

Gimli nodded very slightly, trying not to disrupt the hobbit from her work. It left him thinking though. They were all relying so much upon Legolas’ enchantments. Maybe Sergeant Gandalf had been right, there was no way for the elf to do so much. Legolas wanted to give his all in their fights and there was no way to do that if you were focusing on even small things, let alone the enchantments Legolas had admitted were tiring for him to cast without distraction.

More importantly though, they needed the protection that the elven magic provided. As much as he enjoyed their bouts, the safety of their unit was far more important. And what if Gimli or someone else were to sustain a serious injury? The practice might be good, but it seemed more risky than useful. He should not have let himself be so distracted. It was dangerous in practice, but could prove fatal if it occurred on the field of battle.

When Legolas and Strider made their return, he noted with worry that although the elf’s body language had returned to normal, his skin had a grey pallor to it. The dark golden hair was also streaked with chestnut strands.

He caught Legolas’ eye for a moment and the elf turned away immediately, a look of shame on his fair features. He wanted to reassure him, but the elf hurriedly walked away from him. Gimli knew he had to do something to help his companion. He wondered if there wasn’t a way to make a brewing apparatus with the natural materials around them. He would have to see if the Lieutenant’s many books held any answers.  
\-----

The sergeant said nothing about Gimli’s injury, nor did he voice any further need to end the sparing matches. Gimli understood now why he had cautioned against it and Gandalf seemed to infer Gimli’s decision to cease the sparring without either of them talking about it.

When they finished their meal just before dawn, Lieutenant Éowyn told Gimli to gather the men. Everyone gathered around their fire and waited until their officer came forth to speak with them.

“Men, I have been pouring over the maps and it appears we are about a fortnight’s distance from our destination at the Osgiliath defenses. This means we draw closer to danger. There will be a high chance of our encountering foes and an increased risk of finding ourselves in the middle of a battle. I want each of you to stay on your guard at all times. Listen to every bit of Sergeant Gandalf’s seasoned advice. We move now to glory and honor! Let us proceed with valor to death or victory!”

There was a split second of awkward silence and then Gimli gave an encouraging cry of “Death or Victory!” Merry joined him with her own loud cry of “victory” which was quickly joined by Pippin, then the rest of the hobbits. Soon there were all yelling variations of death and glory. The Lieutenant smiled proudly at his pep talk and thanked them for their enthusiasm before returning to his tent to continue strategizing.

Once he was out of sight, Gandalf came forward. “Alright, men. Listen up, and listen up good. Victory and honor are all good and well, I’m not the sort to tell a man not to fight for what he believes in. But hear this. My job is to keep you boys alive. The first thing you need to know about real war is, when it comes between an honorable death and living, a solder will always choose life. Sure, you have duels and enthusiasts, but most people would rather enjoy their glory then be too dead to see it.”

Gandalf began to pace in front of them as he continued, “Officers mean well. They are full of lofty ideas and strategy. This is good. You want to follow someone like that. You want to make that bright future become real, it will be a great world to live in. But on the battlefield, there just isn’t that sort of nicety. Things are not black and white, they aren’t clean the way officers see it. So you boys gotta learn the skills you need to survive. I have seen a lot of you practicing with weapons and it’s clear that you all have finally got the hang of which end to point at the enemy. But we are running short on time. So from here on out, we are going to focus on stealth. You don’t often find yourself killed if the enemy is unable to see you.”

“I suppose that should be easy. Many in our company are short, Sergeant, no doubt the enemy will look right past the hobbits and our dwarf,” said Legolas with his customary sarcasm.

“That just makes you that much more of a target, Corporal. Now hold your tongue until I’m done, if you don’t mind.”

Legolas nodded, still keeping that smug smile on his lips.

“While you do your guard shifts, you will be learning to remain hidden and how to surprise your enemies if they come upon you. First bit of advice, stay in the shadows. When in camp, you are to rest as best as you can and work on weapon drills, but not full matches unless you are given express permission. Well, all of you except for the Corporal.”

Legolas began to protest but the Sergeant’s large hand came up for silence. “You, Corporal, will be spending all the time you can developing newer and stronger enchantments to disguise our unit. You are our first line of defenses and the better the job you do, the safer all your men will be. See if you can’t find a way for Private Boromir to look like a boulder or a stump, would you? I’ve already given Strider the watch assignments for the day. Now get to!”

The elf immediately came stomping over to Gimli’’s side. “Can you believe that?! We will have to wait until next time we are on shift together to be able to have a match. I’m sure you are itching for a chance to pay me back for your little injury,” Legolas joked.

Gimli’s stomach twisted into a knot. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to Legolas about this. “I think we better not, lad. Best to stick with our orders right now, don’t you think? Besides, if we are fighting we will hardly be doing a good job keeping watch.”

Hot winds swirled around their feet, kicking up leaf litter and other detritus. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side on this,” Legolas cried, incredulous, “I’m perfectly capable of holding the barrier in place, listening, and fighting.”

“I never said you weren’t, I just think the Sarg is right on this one. Besides, we don’t know what the dangers are really going to be like yet. We should be cautious.”

“I thought you were my friend! Why don’t you trust me?”

Gimli wasn’t sure what set Legolas off so easily about this. “I am your friend! That’s why I want to be safe,” he tried to explain.

“You don’t think I can fight and use magic at the same time, do you?”

“I didn’t say—“

“Do you?!” Legolas screamed at him.

Finally, Gimli had enough. “Truth is, no. I don’t! The reason you hurt me was ‘cause I got distracted when your fog disappeared in the middle of our fight! Sarg had said it might happen and I didn’t want to believe it, but then there it was. You said it yourself, you don’t have the strength right now to control all these things at once.”

“That’s not true. I will prove it to you.” Legolas’ hand reached for his blades and Gimli slapped the hands before they finished unclasping the sheathes.

Betrayal filled the elf’s blue eyes and he pushed Gimli back with enough force to knock him to the ground.

“Fine! Have it your way,” the taller man cried, “just don’t touch me!” Legolas stalked off to where Strider was giving shift assignments and then continued out of camp.

Normally Gimli would have gone after him to try and reason with the elf. He did not enjoy leaving anything unfinished, particularly a fight. But he was so angry at how recalcitrant the other man was acting; he did not want to speak with him for a while. What had crawled into the pointy-eared prat’s britches and bit his arse anyhow?  
\-----

When dusk approached and it was time to get back onto the road, Gimli gathered his things headed to where the horses were tied up. When he arrived he discovered that Legolas was already mounted with Sam and Frodo upon his horse.

He would admit that he had worried that their ride tonight might be awkward, but he had figured that they would work it out and mend their friendship once more. Instead, he felt the pang of jealousy. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Legolas riding with someone else, they weren’t assigned exclusively to any horse or riding partner. But he still felt hurt and told himself that it was merely the fact Legolas hadn’t asked him first that bothered him.

“Got tired of how a dwarf like me could manage to outshine you on the back of the same horse, elf?” he joked, trying to dissolve the tension he felt. He even made sure it would be easy for Legolas to throw an insult back his way.

“I was worried about Strider’s horse taking the weight of three, plus so many heavy belongings. We can’t afford for a horse to tire,” replied Legolas curtly, not even looking in his direction.

“Come on, Gimli,” beckoned Strider, “I will try not to have my arm rot off on you.”

Gimli nodded, giving one last look up to Legolas, hoping to meet his eyes and see what he might be thinking, but all he received was a cold breeze. He walked over to Strider, who held out a hand and helped to lift him up on the horse in front of him.

Strider spent most of their ride teaching Gimli how to control the horse and ride so that should he ever need to ride on his own he would be able to. He certainly was thankful for the distraction. Every moment that they slipped into silence, his glance wandered over to where Legolas rode at the front of their group.

He didn’t understand why the elf got so upset when it was so plain to everyone that he needed to conserve his powers. Things were only going to get worse as they moved towards battle and Gimli wasn’t sure what would become of Legolas should anyone, friend or foe, be truly hurt around him. He didn’t know if Legolas would be able to hold back his nature or not. So far he had kept himself under control, but it was now almost three weeks now since Legolas had been able to partake of his stay and it seemed like time was going to run out for someone.

“I worry about him too,” said Strider, low in his ear. “It has been too long since he has had any ethanol and I fear that it is only a matter of time before he becomes a danger to us.”

Gimli glanced over his shoulder. “What can we do if something were to happen?”

Strider’s rotten face was sullen. “We should discuss this in private later. I know Legolas cares deeply about suppressing his hunger. But if he were to lose control, things would be dire.”

“You don’t mean—“

“You’re heading us off our course, Gimli,” Strider said calmly as Gimli turned in time to keep them from going off towards the main road. He could tell from the man’s body language that the discussion was over, so he let it stand. But it would eat at him not knowing just how dire dire truly was. He glanced over at Legolas again and felt that knot in his stomach twist once more. He couldn’t stand idly by any longer; he had to do something.  
\-----

The next couple of days on the road, Gimli spent his free time helping the hobbits train and learning what he could from Lieutenant Éowyn's survival books on the pretense of striving to be a better solder.

In truth, he was learning about how to make a fermentation container out of some of the things they had lying around. He washed his water skin as best as he could and laid it in the sun to dry completely. It wouldn’t kill all the nasty things that could ruin a brew, but according to the book it would take care of most of them. Then he just had to find a way to make a proper stopper. Between Strider and Sam’s collections of tools, he was able to make something that fit tight enough to keep anything from getting in, but that had enough ventilation that it should not combust as the brew began to ferment. Then all that was left was to find something to brew with.

Gimli knew that the question of what to do should Legolas turn on them still hung in the air between them. Several times Gimli engaged the ranger in conversation hoping to guide the conversation in that direction, but whenever they approached it, Strider managed to twist the conversation away from it.

Whatever the outcome was, it must have been bad if Strider, who was open to discussing anything, was avoiding the topic. Still, Gimli did not want to put off the inevitable talk, even if it would be painful, and so he decided to get right to the point.

“I have to know.” Gimli said as they were making their final pass on shift.

“About Legolas?” Strider asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

The ranger stopped walking and sighed. Gimli didn’t think he had seen the man look so tired before.

“When an elf gives in to the hunger, they become a wild creature of nature. It is nearly impossible to stop them. I have only seen the loss of control once before. The men who were with her, slayed their elf companion before she could finish the last of them off. It was a difficult task, even for us rangers. There were 40 men in that entourage. Seven came back whole. I was traveling with another ranger when we happened upon the scene. The group had run out of food and drink and eventually the elf healer who was with them lost control. We did our best for those spared her fangs, but there was so little left. Even of those who fell, we had little to put the survivors back together with. Some of the legs and arms we reattached were made up of parts from several men. In the end, it was an iron dagger to the heart that stopped her rampage.”

Gimli stared on, seeing just how much the tortured scene was burned into Strider’s memory. “I didn’t know….”

Strider shook his head. “My companion and I only told our clan leader. After that neither of us ever spoke of it again. I knew after making it through that, I could face war. Surely war is less bloody.”

“So, that’s it? Once an elf loses themselves they can’t recover?”

“I am not saying that they are unable. I am just saying, I have never heard of a recovery that didn’t require the sacrifice of a life. Even during my time living with elves I only ever heard of them indulging in large quantities of blood ot feasting on mortal flesh to return to themselves.”

He hung his head. He could not let that happen. Legolas and he may have had their differences and they may not even be speaking, but he felt in his heart that it was necessary to prevent such a thing at any cost. He had a duty to protect his companions.

“So iron is the only answer?”

“Elves have a reaction to it. They can’t regenerate where iron touches them. If you injure them greatly enough with iron and do not remove it in time, then they will die, the same as a mortal.” Strider looked him in the eye as he said this. But the look spoke of more than just a passing fact. This was advice on what to do should Legolas turn on them.

Gimli swallowed hard and shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“I spoke with him earlier. He said he would prefer it to be someone he cares about. He would want it done before the hunger consumed him entirely.”

He took two steps back from the man, not wanting these words to be spoken. Just hearing them aloud made it seem like such an outcome was possible. If it were to be, he was not sure that he could be the one to take the elf’s life. Those complicated feelings that were stronger than any sort of friendship he had before known were bubbling up inside him. He would not let it come to that. He refused to.  
\-----

Gimli threw himself even more into studying the Lieutenant’s books and Strider helped him as often as he could in seeing what was available as they went. The survival book mentioned a couple types of mushrooms that could be used to make stiff alcohols. The next time he and Strider were on patrol they worked to gather as many as they could. There was little fruit growing in the area at this time in fall, but they threw in what little they found. Strider assured him that the wild yeast that would be clinging to the fruit skin would help induce fermentation and they used some of Sam’s bread yeast and a little sugar to help speed up the process.

Even with everything bottled and prepared, it would still take a couple more weeks to be ready. Gimli hoped that the elf could hold out that long. They wouldn’t be to the front lines until then, so if they could keep from encountering any enemies before then, they might just have a chance. That is, if Legolas would even accept something he had made.

Strider assured him that Legolas would. Being a month without ethanol would be enough to make him desperate. But Gimli was still worried. There was no guarantee that something wouldn’t happen in the meantime. They all had to be very careful.  
\-----

The next day Gimli and Legolas were on patrol together. He had been both dreading and hoping for the opportunity. It was now almost five days since their fight and Legolas spoke no more to him than was absolutely necessary. Legolas had stopped making sarcastic remarks and turned into a serious corporal in the interim, but only Gimli seemed to be truly unnerved by the change. Both of their superiors seemed to welcome the change in attitude. But he knew it was symptomatic of serious things going on with the elf and not a decision to concentrate on his duty.

The first thirty minutes of their watch was in complete silence. Gimli kept hoping that perhaps there would be a natural break and he could ease back into conversation like they used to. But whenever he started to catch Legolas’ attention, the stubborn elf would turn away and become interested in something in the distance.

“Le—“

The long arm came up hushing him and Legolas disappeared off their route for a moment before he returned.

“Was there something there?” Gimli whispered. He had to get Legolas to acknowledge that he was there before they could start talking.

The blonde shook his head and moved on, not looking back in his direction.

Gimli let out a breath very very slowly. Legolas was trying his patience like he had never done before.

“Corporal,” he tired, hoping maybe that would change the reception he would receive.

The hand came up again for silence.

Gimli stopped walking, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Eventually Legolas continued forward.

This was getting them nowhere. He had to do something more drastic and damn the consequences.

He reached up and grabbed hold of a handful of the long blonde and brown strands and stopped walking.

Another long stride from the elf was enough. “Ow!” The elf spun on his heel, turning to glare at Gimli, who glared back.

“Oh, now I exist?”

Legolas did not respond, but turned back, pulling his hair around front so it was not in grabbing range again, and walked quickly forward.

He wasn’t going to let it go like this. Gimli reached down and grabbed a handful of small stones from the ground. He picked out a smooth round one and launched it at the back of the elf’s head.

A hand came up to grab the spot and Legolas broke into a run.

Gimi gave chase, hurling the stones at Legolas as best he could. The elf dodged all of them, weaving around trees to cover his back. Then in one smooth motion, Legolas reached up and grabbed a tree branch, pulling himself up into the branches, disappearing almost immediately from view.

He stood at the base of the tree, looking up into the mass of leaves to find any sign of the red of their uniforms. When there seemed no sign of the elf in that tree, he looked at a few nearby, but to no avail. If Legolas really did want to stay hidden from him, there was nothing he could do about it.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just talk to me!” Gimli screamed at the trees. He waited on the off-chance there was any sort of response, but he got none. He sat down on the ground with his legs folded under him. He was so angry. Somewhat at Legolas for being a hardheaded bastard of an elf, but mostly at himself for losing his temper and making things worse instead of better.

He wondered if he should try to complete his watch, or just wait here until someone came to get him. A memory sprung to his mind of the elven maiden Legolas had disguised himself as just over a month ago. They had been reckless then, but at least they had their friendship. Now they were both being reckless without any positive compensation for the consequences.

Gimli had always assumed the most difficult parts of his journey were going to be the fighting and keeping himself from getting caught for being a woman. As it turned out, the most difficult part so far had come from both of their corporals.

There was a rustling sound in the tree above him and Gimli looked up to see the pale thin face of Legolas looking down at him. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to ask. Instead he just stared up at the elf, his mouth open, and all the many thoughts refusing to become words. He closed his mouth, stood up and walked on.

He heard Legolas land on the ground with a soft tap and knew that he was being followed, still in silence. At least he wouldn’t get in trouble for leaving his post or his superior alone.

But as they continued the silence just started to anger him again. He turned and Legolas was so close behind him that they nearly collided. Gimli stared up at the taller man, daring him to be quiet. Legolas had an uncertain look on his face. Gimli rolled his eyes, threw up his arms, and headed onwards again.

“Gim—“

“What?!” he cried, exasperated, turning back to the elf again.

Legolas looked even more anxious but said nothing.

His whole body trembled with anger. He pulled his pack around. Ever since he started Legolas’ brew he had kept the pack with him at all times, wanting to protect it as best as possible. Now he just wanted to get rid of the reminder that he was trying to help someone so ungrateful out.

He saw the elf’s head tilt to the side in curiosity from the corner of his eye. He pulled out the makeshift fermentation container and pressed it against Legolas’ chest. “I never should have bothered! You are so ungrateful I can’t even—“ he made a fist then let it go. “You don’t want to be my friend or talk to me anymore, fine. But this is for the good of our company. I’m tired of trying to look out for a selfish asshole like you. Look after your own damned brew and try to keep a hold of yourself.”

He stormed off, even as Legolas’ wide eyes frantically went between the water skin and Gimli.

“Gimli, wait!”

He shook his head and now he was running. He knew it was stupid, he could easily be outrun by an elf and they were going to end up at the same place eventually. He just needed some time alone to process everything that had happened. Maybe he should’ve just punched Legolas and let go of his conflicting feelings.

Legolas dropped out of a tree right in front of him and grasped his shoulder with one hand. His shoulders tensed from the touch. He saw that the elf’s other hand was cradling the water skin to his chest. “Gimli, please. Let me explain,” Legolas pleaded.

“A week of silence and now you want to talk?” he asked, his nostrils flaring.

Legolas closed his eyes, hanging his head. “I… I’ve been a fool.” The long ears flattened against the side of his head.

“Aye that you have.”

“I thought….” Legolas looked up, his eyes meeting Gimli’s and he saw there was deep pain.

Some of the tension he was holding relaxed. There was genuine regret in the elf’s look and voice.

“I was just so angry. At you, for seeing the truth. At myself for being this weak. I was upset at first. But then I realized that it was safer for me to keep my distance.” A shaking hand reached forward and brushed the spot where Gimli’s cheek had been sliced. “I lost control and it could have been much more serious. If it wasn’t for Strider, you could have lost an eye. What if I had cut an artery? I could have triggered something that put everyone in danger. I am as much a liability as an asset to this company right now. And I—“ the soft voice cracked.

Gimli took the hand from his face and intertwined the fingers with his. “You didn’t though. We can be more careful.”

Legolas looked as though he might cry and Gimli gave his hand a squeeze to reassure him. “I’m with you, Legolas.”

The elf looked away. “I want you to promise me, Gimli,” came the shaky voice, “if anything happens—“

“Nothing is going to happen.” He knew where Legolas’ words were headed and he did not want to believe things would get that far. “Strider and I are working on a few things to help you make it until we can get you some ale.”

“If anything happens,” Legolas repeated, his voice clearer, “I want you to be the one to stop me before I lose control completely.”

Gimli shook his head. This was too much to ask of him. “I can’t, Legolas, I care too much for you to do what you are asking me to do.”

A wild desperation filled those aqua eyes. “Gimli, I do not want to become a monster. I would rather die than to let that side of me claim my heart. If I were to hurt any of you…. If I were to hurt you…. No! You must promise me that you will do this. I will ask nothing else of you ever, but in this I need your compliance.”

He wanted to say no. He knew he would be unable to hurt Legolas if it came down to it. But the whole company was in danger. He thought about the bodies of the small hobbits or of Lieutenant Éowyn as Strider had described the group of 40. He could not let that happen either.

“Gimli, please!”

He looked away and nodded slowly. “Alright. I will exhaust all other options first, but I will stop you from losing yourself, if it takes my life to do it. I promise you that.”

A mix of sadness and overwhelming joy passed the elf’s face and he threw his arms around Gimli, pulling them close together. For a moment, time seemed to slow down and Gimi saw only before it happen that Legolas’ lips pressed to his.

He closed his eyes and kissed Legolas back, allowing the moment of intimacy without question. It just felt like his soul was coming together with a missing part of itself.

The sun peered out from beneath the clouds and a sunbeam illuminated them both. When they parted, Gimli looked up to see Legolas’ golden hair glowing from the warm light above. He had not noticed just how lovely the elf’s features truly were.

Legolas took a couple of steps back, pulling the water skin against his chest gingerly and smiled, the warm breeze ruffling his long hair.

Suddenly Legolas turned, taking Gimli’s hand and pulling him out of sight behind a tree. “Someone’s coming”

Gimli blushed furiously, feeling their shared warmth and the soft fingers between his. After a couple of moments Pippin and Sam came walking along.

“You don’t think they’ve run into trouble, do you?” asked Sam.

Pippin shook her head. “Those two? Not unless they are giving each other trouble. They’re two of the strongest in our company. They can handle themselves.”

“I am sure you’re right,” said Sam, “still, we haven’t found any sign of them in a while. I think we’re all doomed if something were to happen to them.”

A wicked grin crossed Legolas’ face. ‘Stealth training’ he mouthed and motioned to the hobbits. Gimli sighed, but decided if it would cheer up the elf’s spirit it might be worth it.

There was the sound of a twig snapping on the other side of the path from them and Pippin and Sam turned towards it, their hands going to their belts.

In a flash, Legolas had grabbed Sam from behind, a hand over her mouth to keep from making noise, and disappeared into the bushes.

Pippin turned around. “Sam?!” She pulled out the sword and looked about. “You come out here, you fiend! I may not look like much, but we hobbits are known for our battle savvy. And I am the dreaded Terrible Took!”

There was a rustling of leaves and Pippin headed towards it. Gimli slipped up behind Pippin and held the blade of an axe to his throat. “Game over, laddie.”

Pippin’s eyes widened, then Legolas came out with Sam and Gimli let him go.

“You two!” exclaimed Pippin, “Why did you do that! We could have killed you!”

“Hardly. If we were the enemy, you both would be dead, your Dreaded Tookiness,” said Legolas sarcastically and turning to wink at Gimli.

Pippin looked offended but Sam beamed up at the elf. “We’re very glad that you aren’t. And to see you two getting along again is an encouraging sight, if I do say so myself.”

Legolas’ expression fell serious. “Well, you both need to work on your sneaking. If the sergeant was the one to catch you acting like this, you’d both be in hot water.”

Sam had the decency to look embarrassed about it. Pippin, meanwhile, puffed up her chest. “Well, you aren't. We knew you were out here, that’s why we didn’t put up a fight.”

Gimli rolled his eyes. “That big talk isn’t going to help you once we get out on the battlefield.”

“That’s right,” said Legolas sternly, “Now, get to your watch, you two.”

Sam nodded her thanks and bid them go have their meal. “Frodo found a bush heavily laden with overripe fruit. It’s not much, but we thought you might be able to use it, Corporal.”

“Thank you, Sam. I will warn you, the sergeant’s been doing surprise stealth inspection, so you best keep yourself on guard and out of view while you’re out here..”

“Aye, aye, Corporal!” said Pippin with exaggerated formality and a comically large salute.

He walked in stride with Legolas back towards the camp. Once they were out of view of the hobbits, Gimli put a hand upon Legolas’ side. “A bit of good news.”

Legolas smiled down to him. “It certainly can’t hurt,” he replied and Gimli saw the elf cradling the water skin to his side once more.  
\-----

Gimli was hesitant when they went to mount the horses the next day. He wasn’t sure if he should head to Legolas or stay with Strider. It seemed like he and Legolas had made up, but the change that came over the elf when Sam had mentioned their being on good terms again made him hesitate.

Then he remembered the kiss. It was a soft brief kiss. He did not know elven custom, perhaps it was just how they showed their appreciation and it didn’t mean anything more that that. Certainly seduction was a common technique to lure in unsuspecting mortals in many of the stories his people told of elves. But then again, there had always been a sort of chemistry between them that Gimli couldn’t quite put his finger on. He hoped that it was more than just a friendly gesture or a habit from over the ages.

He didn’t know why he would want it to be more than friendly. A dwarf and an elf together? That was preposterous! There was no way for it to work out in the long run. However, that didn’t mean they couldn’t explore their difference and deepening friendship. He supposed it was best not to worry about it, he had no way of knowing how Legolas felt about him either way.

Strider came and found him where he was covering up their fire pit, lost deep in his own thoughts. “Come, master dwarf, everyone’s ready to move out.”

Gimi kicked himself when he saw that Frodo and Sam were already on the back of Legolas’ horse, but he got on in front of Strider without complaint. Maybe when they stopped he could talk again to Legolas and find out if he wanted them to ride together again or not. It was only one more day, after all.

As they headed forward the path started to turn downward, the terrain more rocky and steep than they had encountered so far along their journey. Gimli had to hold on tightly to the saddle with one hand and the reigns with the other, for fear that he might fall off on their bumpy winding path.

Not long after they had remounted from their midnight rest, clouds obscured the light of the moon. Legolas was leading the way, his eyes able to make out their route well enough to lead them all forward. Being nearly blind in the dark woods, the horses took to following the sound of the steps of the horse in front of them. Strider assured him that they would not lose the group, but even still, Gimli worried.

Their horse stepped down further than either he or Strider had been prepared for and Strider’s body slammed into him from behind. Gimli’s eyes widened as he felt things that should not have been and realized there was one other that was missing. He said nothing. He elected to let himself meditate on the event before he brought it up.

After another hour the moon came back out and their company was able to move more naturally again.

“You seem much less tense today, Gimli. Did your watch with Legolas go well then?”

Gimli sighed, lowering his head in defeat. “He made me promise I would be the one.”

“I am sorry that the decision pains you, but it is for the best for all of us. It is much easier to say than to do, I understand that. I have been in similar situations as a ranger. Where one has to make a decision of who is to live or die. They are terrible moments and we try to save all that we can, of course. Part of our code is to save all the lives we can and we do whatever it takes to accomplish that task.”

“I must admit I only know a few tales about the rangers. Is it true that your curse was a wrath from the elves?” he asked.

“Yes,” Strider replied with enthusiasm. “I was unaware that the dwarves knew the tale. The Living Rot was punishment for Beren and his descendants.”

“I only know that it was a curse for the vanity of a man who dared to seduce an elf.”

Strider laughed. “Yes, the elvish version of the story is more one sided like that. The truth was, of course, that they fell in love with each other. As a result, the most beautiful of the children of Iluvatar, gave up her immortality for love. The love she had for a man. The elves were convinced that the only way a mortal could have done this were if he had seduced or tricked her into the marriage. Even as she begged them not to, they placed a curse on him and all his descendants, forcing us to live by scavenging life from others.”

Gimli tilted his head, confused. “But wouldn’t their children be half elves? So it would be like cursing your own people, right?”

“Well, that is sort of an interesting point, yes,” admitted the ranger, “The children of Luthien and Beren were born as either elves who could choose to be mortal, or as the men of living decay. It was just luck as to which fate they would have. Those who were born as men are granted the long life and the healing magic of the elves, but are cursed for their bodies to age twice as fast as a regular human. Even still, we live as our flesh crumbles off our bones.”

His eyes widened. “I hadn’t realized that’s why you look… well, that that was what your condition was. You must be very old then?”

“I’m a child by elvish standards, I’m only 88.”

“You’re 88?” exclaimed Gimli, incredulously. Although he was himself 139, for a mortal man though 88 was incredibly old. He had heard of the rangers using parts of corpses and attaching them to their own body to replace rotting parts, but he had not understood what forced them to do such a thing. It all made sense in light of this explanation. What an awful fate to give to a whole group of people! And Strider said he had lived with elves too? Gimli wasn’t sure he would have been able to forgive a race of people who had been responsible for such a condition, let alone to live side by side with them.

“I know, I’ve barely even begun to rot. In fact, there are only a few parts of my face and arms that I have had to replace at all. Mostly it is just skin patches. I have yet to get to the real horrors.”

Since Strider was in such a forthcoming mood, Gimli decided to bring up his suspicions from earlier. “So, male rangers are called Strider, but what do you call female rangers?”

“What did I do wrong?” asked Strider disappointedly.

“It wasn’t something you did wrong, exactly. But when the horse misstepped and your body pressed against mine, I could feel that you weren’t a man.”

“Well, no use in denying it, is there?”

Gimli smiled over his shoulder. “I think Legolas would say it’s catching,” he chuckled, “In this fellowship, all the privates are women.”

“And I have my suspicions about one of the officers,” laughed Strider, sounding more lighthearted than he could remember hearing from the woman before.

“Oh, you think Sergeant Gandalf is a woman under that weasely exterior?” Gimli joked.

“That wasn’t who I was thinking of, but certainly it is an image that will stay with me.”

As if on cue, they heard the gruff voice of the sergeant. “You two keep it down back there. Private Gimli, it seems you’re a troublemaker no matter who you ride with. One more outburst and I’ll have you riding with me next time.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” he replied, trying to hold back a laugh.  
\-----

“Do the men ever talk about me,” asked Lieutenant Éowyn, when Gimli came by to serve the officer his meal and fetch the laundry.

Gimli smiled. The poor man was clearly insecure about his position. “I can’t say that they have. At least, I have heard anything, sir. You’re a fine leader.”

“Thank you, private.” The lieutenant looked disappointed nevertheless.

“It’s a good thing, sir! Why, the only one we ever really talked about was the old Corporal, and they were not kind words. The men occasionally mention the Sarg, but it’s only about who they think he is going to put the jump on with those stealth inspections of his. The men are still getting to know you, after all. These things take a little time. Unless you want me to make up some nasty rumors to get them started.”

The blonde man chuckled halfheartedly. “That won’t be necessary, Private Gimli. But thank you for offering.”

“Alright, sir. You let me know if you change your mind. I’m sure I could ‘accidentally’ see some nasty scar you got from fighting a bear or taking down a roaming group of bandits.”  
\-----

After their chat, the Lieutenant announced that he would eat his meals with the rest of the men. Gandalf had tried to convince him that an officer didn’t need to do so and that it was the men’s chance to relax, but Éowyn insisted. Gimli kicked himself for influencing the man to invade the time they usually spent talking about personal matters with each other. He could see that the situation would cause tension and only serve to alienate the lieutenant further. It was time to do something.

Gimli stood up from his seat. “Alright lads,” he began, “you all seem to be having a touch of what we dwarves call, the surface blahs. You have all been getting a bit weary of the monotony of the road. Well, I thought we could have a little song we dwarves use to combat such a condition. Now when I give the signal, I want you all to say, ‘by my beard, another beer might do’.”

He was met with faces round the fire showing expressions of uncertainty, puzzlement, and indignation.

“Let’s try it all together now,” said Gimli, raising an arm, “by my beard, another beer might do.”

No one repeated after him. He frowned. “Come on, lads! Give it a shot!”

“By my beard, another beer might do,” came a smattering of low voices.

“You lot are quieter than a bat in sunlight. Put some heart into it,” encouraged Gimli, going over to Merry and Pippin, who were usually the most boisterous. “Say it with me.”

“By my beard, another beer might do!” shouted the two hobbits, meaning to be sarcastic, but they soon smiled.

“Much better!” He went to where Sam was packing up her cooking utensils with Frodo’s help. “You going to let them outdo you two, are you?”

Sam and Frodo exchanged looks then, sung loudly, “By my beard, another beer might do!”

“Ha! Now you’ve got it! Let’s give the Corporal and the Sarg something cheerful to listen to on their watch.”

Everyone gave one last rallying cry of the chorus and Gimli thought he even heard the lieutenant join in.

“There I was, a walkin’ along the long stone path. For three whole days I just marched on without a single drop. Then finally I had enough of all the green and grey. The sobriety is killing me, how can I make it stop!”

He lifted his arm. “By my beard, another beer might do!”

“A beer you say? Now that might do, to ease a little pain. But what about the rest of it?”

“ANOTHER BEER MIGHT DO!” shouted Merry and Pippin in perfect synch.

Gimli nodded at them and continued into the next verse.

“There I was, a walkin’ along the long stone path. For eight whole days I slaved over the blackened kettle pot. But now I find I just can’t stand another plate of stew. The monotony is killing me, how do I eat this slew? Oh!”

“By my beard, another beer might do!”

“A beer you say? Now that might do to ease a little pain. But what about the rest of it?”

“Another beer might do!” came the full chorus this time.

By the end of the last chorus everyone seemed in much higher spirits, but Gimli worried that the good feelings might dissolve in the absence of the cheer. Just as he was about to try to start another song, Strider rose from her seat.

“Since we’re having a bardic circle here tonight, I thought I might share a song that I learned on the road.”

The suggestion was met with encouragement, mostly in the form of Merry and Pippin catcalling.

Strider cleared her throat then began to sing.

“On a clear bright night,  
under the stars so bright,  
I watched by the light of the moon.

My love took care,  
with flowers in her hair,  
and danced the silver loon,  
yes we danced the silver loon.

When her eyes met mine,  
I knew it was the sign,  
that our love was now to bloom.

But the war came on,  
And now I must gone,  
Left to dream of maid and the moon,  
Left to dream of my lady and the moon.”

Gimli felt moisture at the corners of his eyes. He had not expected Strider to have such a clear and heart wrenching voice. He didn’t wonder if perhaps the song was important to the ranger on a personal level, but he suspected it might. There was too much power in the sad melody for someone who did not know loss.

Merry and Pippin stood up next. “That was beautiful, Strider, but I feel a bit more cheerful song is called for next!” announced Pippin.

“I agree entirely, Pip,” said Merry, “we Hobbits are also quite fond of our drinking tunes. Lieutenant, perhaps you can help us out with this next one.”

Éowyn dropped the book he was reading, his face lighting up. “You want my help, privates?” They both nodded.

“I’m sure you have a lovely singing voice,” said Frodo, “the Duchess told me you should share it more often.”

The officer seemed a little surprised by Frodo’s words but he stood up and agreed to help in the song.

In the end, it turned out the man did have a nice voice. It was much more trained for classic tunes, but that ended up complimenting the hobbit’s higher folk style voices nicely.

“What’s all this now?” asked the sergeant when he entered the camp, looking most shocked once he saw that Éowyn was involved with the group. “No offense, sir, I just was wondering what had put the men in such high spirits.”

“No harm, Sergeant. No doubt you know a few of the old war songs,” Éowyn said, gesturing for the man to sit by the fire with them.

“That I do, sir. But I’m afraid I haven’t a decent voice and am more content to listen to the good cheer than to join in. But I won’t stop the music, just going to drift off to the music if you don’t mind.”

Frodo and Boromir went to their watch while the songs continued. Gimli didn’t know when or if the sergeant managed to sleep, his eyes were always open, but his breathing seemed to come in a light snore.

After a couple of hours of revelry, Lieutenant Éowyn thanked them and bid the men to get some rest while they could. He retired to his tent to do the same.

Gimli and Legolas alone remained by the fire.

“You did not come to ride with me,” said Legolas in a voice that Gimli was unsure was accusatory or just factual.

“I was hesitant considering the way we left our watch. I did not want to cause you discomfort and so I wavered until time had slipped away and made the decision for me.”

Legolas did not move. “Ah.”

“I would like to ride again with you if you are not opposed,” he was trying to keep his words neutral until he knew what the elf wanted.

“I would not be opposed to your company again.”

Gimli nudged a pebble with the toe of his boot. “But you do not want it?” he asked, probing at what Legolas might be feeling. He knew it was likely complicated; he was in a similar situation, which was not helped by their last encounter.

A small smile blossomed on Legolas’ face. “I did not say that.”

“Then,” Gimli paused to gather his thoughts and a breath, “you do want it?”

The grin broadened. “perhaps,” came the noncommittal answer.

He turned on the log they shared so that he was facing the blonde. “So you would rather I ride with Strider?”

Legolas turned to face him. “I didn’t say that.”

Their faces were mere centimeters away, both of them staring at each other but not closing the last of the distance. Before their kiss had been during an emotional moment. But now, the gesture would have greater significance. Gimli still didn’t know exactly what a kiss was to an elf or if it meant the same as it did to a mortal, but the longer they both hesitated, the more Gimli suspected it did.

At last Gimli pulled back. “Well, when you’ve made up your mind, let me know. I don’t want to let time decide for me again.”

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and nodded. “Sleep well, Gimli.”

“Staying up a while, then?”

“Someone has to guard the fire,” Legolas said with a mock laugh.

“Don’t let the embers stage a rebellion while I sleep.”  
\-----

Gimli did not sleep well, it seemed too hot or too cold all day long. He had enough trouble sleeping with the sun up as it was, but the fluctuating temperature kept him from getting any sound sleep.

He was awoken at last from his fitful slumber by the feeling of eyes upon him.

When he cracked his eyelids open he saw two large aqua eyes staring down from directly above him.

Gimli sat up with a start and only missed colliding head first into Legolas when the elf pulled back just before the moment of impact.

“By Mahal’s left testicle, what do you think you’re doing, elf!”

“Shhh!” Legolas hushed him with a finger to his lips. Then he motioned for Gimli to follow.

He finger combed some loose strands of hair back into his ponytail and followed the taller man out of the tent.

Gandalf and Strider were staring at something and murmuring about it in hushed tones.

“What’s going on?” asked Gimli, trying to follow the line of sight where the others were staring.

“We’re not entirely sure yet,” Legolas admitted. “It seems to be some sort of message relaying.”

Gimli squinted, trying to make out whatever it was. “I don’t see—“

Legolas came up behind him and pointed with his arm on top of Gimli’s shoulder. “Just wait a moment. Look for the lights.”

Just as he was about to give up, he saw a few brief flashes of light. They could almost be mistaken for the twinkle of a firefly, were it not too cold for any to survive now.

“They must be close to here.”

“Gimli,” said the sergeant, “go get the Lieutenant up and let him know what’s going on. We better see what he wants us to do about this. Try to get him to see the benefit of eliminating this danger before it finds out that we’re here.”

“Yes, sir,” he said and hurried to Éowyn's tent.


	2. To the front lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Fellowship draws closer to the border of Mordor, new trials await them all. Legolas continues to keep a hold on himself, but for how much longer? Will Gimli be able to help him before it's too late or will she have to keep the promise she made?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know there was a character limit on A03, so sorry if the split is a little abrupt. 
> 
> Hover over Sindarin for translation.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!

After most of a night of riding, the fellowship reached the side of a steep hill. Across the valley from them was the message tower, still twinkling with signal fires.

“These towers were once used by the Kings of these lands to call for aid from one another,” said Éowyn with a sigh.

“Does that mean that these could be messages from the men at the front, calling for aid?” asked Frodo.

Gandalf shook his head. “The old kings would light great bonfires, making sure that they could be seen from a long distance. I have never seen any code like this used before.”

“It seems to me, the fastest way to stop the signals, is to go to the tower and keep the men there from sending them,” said Sam.

“One doesn’t simply waltz over to an enemy spy and ask them to stop, master hobbit,” said Boromir. “And even if it were that simple, between us and there lies the whole valley. The sun will soon be rising and our position would be given away before we made it three steps out of the cover of the trees.”

“And we don’t know what types of weapons they might have. Even if we weren’t shot down immediately, they would surely tell the other towers about us,” Legolas continued.

A thought dawned on Gimli. “We don’t have to cross the valley.”

“What?” asked Merry, “It’s not like we can fly.”

Gimli shook his head. “If we can see their signal, it means that they are communicating with another tower that’s somewhere in our direction. If we can get to that tower, we can stop the messages.”

Frodo perked up. “If that tower is on a hilltop, it stands to reason that the others are too. It’s probably somewhere on this very hill!”

“Alright, lads, let’s find this tower,” barked Gandalf

Strider turned to Legolas. “Can you make out where it might be, Corporal?”

Legolas turned to Gandalf who nodded in affirmation, then he leapt up into a tree, disappearing quickly into the upper branches.

The elf reappeared a couple minutes later. “It’s just as Frodo suspect, just over the crest of the hill is the tower. I couldn’t tell exactly how many men were there, but I saw their signaling apparatus and I would assume at least two or three men would be needed to work it.”

“Let’s move out,” said Gandalf as they headed up to the crest of the hill.

When they could see the structure through the trees, they dismounted. This part of the hill took a suddenly steep turn up and there was no way a horse could make it without risk of breaking a leg.

“Alright, men,” the sergeant began, “this is our first real attack. We’re going to split up into three groups and come at this thing from all sides. Boromir, no offense, but as this is a stealth mission, I’m going to ask that you stay here.”

“Yes, sir,” said the golem, disappointment tinting her words.

“Corporal Legolas, you take Sam and Pippin and go around to the left. Privates Strider, Frodo, and Merry, head right. Private Gimli, you come with me and—“

“I shall be coming too, Sergeant,” interrupted Éowyn and Gimli saw the initial grimace on Gandalf’s face before he turned with a smile.

“What a great idea, Lieutenant. Since we were one man short, how about Private Gimli and I accompany you up the center?”

Éowyn nodded with satisfaction. “Please proceed.”

“Lads, you’re to get to the top as quickly and quietly as possible. That means no funny business, Private Took! Then everyone will hold until you get my signal—“

“You mean my signal, don’t you, Sergeant?” asked the Lieutenant and Gimli was sure that there would be a talk between the two of them once this was all over.

“Is that not what I said, sir? Beg your pardon. Well, boys, on the signal you strike as hard and as fast as you can. The faster and harder you hit, the less likely anyone is to get hurt, you hear me? But until then, not a sound! Now get into your groups and we will move out.”

Gimli and Legolas gave one another a last parting glance. He was not particularly worried about their band of “brothers” coming out victorious. With the element of surprise on their side everything should no doubt go smoothly. But there was a brief flash of anxiety across the elf’s face but it disapeared before he spoke.

“The Team with the most hostages wins. And this time, I will not lose.”

Gimli grinned in response. “I can’t wait to see your face when you get to the top and you’ve already lost, elf.”

“Private Gimli!” hissed Gandalf and he nodded at Legolas as he hurried to his superior’s side.

Gandalf, Gimli, and Éowyn headed forwards as the other two groups disappeared into the trees on either side.

In the distance he heard the faint sound of Boromir’s voice, “Good luck!”

He turned and saw the look of understanding abandonment.

“Thank you!” he called back. “We’ll see you in a few minutes!”

“Alright, let’s go,” whispered Gandalf before he took off straight ahead, picking up more and more speed in an inhuman way as he ran. It took little time before he was completely out of sight.

He and Éowyn exchanged glances before throwing all their strength into running up the nearly 80-degree slope.

His shorter legs made it more difficult to get over the occasional rock or stump that lay on his path. Gimli reached out and used roots and branches to pull himself up the hill, trying to move as quickly as possible to try and catch up with the sergeant. He noticed a putrid sour smell in the air, but he could not figure out what it was.

As he was scrambling up over a boulder, Gandalf appeared from behind a tree trunk, pulling him off to the side.

“Where’s the Rupert?” demanded the sergeant.

Gimli glanced about. “I’m not sure, Sarg.”

“Curse your ancestors, private! You can’t lose your Rupert! Who knows what trouble he will get into left on his own. He might start getting heroic ideas into his head and want to take action. You better go find him, he’s your responsibility as batman, after all.”

Gimli nodded, taking a moment to catch his breath before he looked back down the hillside that had taken him so much effort to scale. He thought he saw a red object and he carefully made his way down towards it.

As he approached he saw the man was struggling, caught somehow between a rock and a bush.

“Private Gimli! Glad to see you.”

“We lost sight of you, sir, so I came to see if you had been having some trouble on this hill.”

“I am afraid so. My jacket snagged on these brambles and when I went to untangle it, I got my sword jammed in the rock.”

As he looked, he saw that there was no exaggeration in the claim, the back of the red jacket was stabbed through on the long twisted thorns of the brambles and the scabbard wedged into a space in the rock.

“I’ll have you free in no time, sir,” said Gimli, hoping it was not a lie.

“Thank you, private. You have to admire the old King’s ingenuity in placing these towers in such difficult places to attack. An army clad in full armor would have quite the time at making it up this steep incline.”

With a thunk, Gimli managed to free the scabbard from the rock with minimal scratches. “It is as you say, sir. We aren’t doing too great at scaling it ourselves.”

Éowyn gave a small chuckle. “Indeed, indeed.”

Working carefully so as not to tear the jacket fabric, Gimli freed the back of the officer’s jacket one thorn at a time. He tried not to roll his eyes at how nonchalant Éowyn was being about having got caught, but he admired the man for staying positive when there was a fight soon to be had.

With effort, Gimli managed to lead the lieutenant back up to the tree where Gandalf was waiting. “Good to see you finally come to join us, sir,” said the sergeant, “now if you’ll just wait here, Private Gimli and I will go on and—“

“I’m coming,” Éowyn said in a voice that would allow no argument.

Gandalf looked unsure for a moment. “Of course, sir. But with all due respect, sir, I have the most experience with this sort of atta—“

“I will not be left behind like a maiden when her husband goes off to fight. I admit I have little experience on the field, but I completed my basic training, which is more than many of these boys have had to endure. It’s my regiment to lead and I shall not be left out of the fighting. Any dangers my men will face, so shall I. Now are we going to stand around all day talking or are we going to go fight some bad guys?”

The sergeant looked a little dazed. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“Good, let’s go,” said the lieutenant, getting down into a low crouch and moving slowly forward.

“Yes, sir,” Gandalf mumbled, clearly upset and giving Gimli a look that warned not to encourage the man further.

The three of them made their way onward and the going became steadily more even. The trees thinned out, probably cut to prevent enemies from going unnoticed. The putrid smell was stronger here and Gimli could make out that it was several different chemicals. Most he didn’t know, but the scent of phosphorous was unmistakable.

There was also smoke. Large billowing trails of it. Thick and dark it poured out of a window towards the top of the tower and clung around the roof of the building like a dense cloud. Despite being called a tower, however, it was only raised another half a meter above the ground. From their position Gimli lifted his head up to the base of one of the large observation windows. He could make out the large black metal signal mechanism and the three men that were operating it. Legolas had been good in his observations; having an elf as a scout did come in handy, didn’t it?

Each movement of the device caused the metal panels to slam and its hinges to squeak. It was a terrible sound, like live rats on a butcher block. Gimli ducked back down and relayed his observations.

“Alright, private, we move in in—“

“Not yet,” said Éowyn, causing Gandalf to do a double take.

“But sir, they are sending dangerous messages to the enemy,” the sergeant protested.

“Wait,” the lieutenant said evenly.

Gimli saw how red in the face Gandalf had become. The longer they waited, the more furious he seemed to become. Every slam, every squeak, was a fresh offense.

Then suddenly, there was silence.

“You may go when you are ready, Sergeant”

Gandalf wasted no time. He pulled out his smoking bag and from within he fished out a strange looking bundle. It looked at first to be a rolled cigar skewered on a thin stick. The man had his flint out and in a moment the thing shot into the air with a loud pop and a small red burst.

As they ran towards the window, Gimli noticed it seemed like time slowed down and distances had elongated since just a moment before. He was sure it was a trick of the mind as he leapt up and flung himself through the window, spinning once to get his feet up under him.

One of the men had already taken off, running towards an exit. The man furthest from them was brandishing his sword, an ugly piece of twisted black metal, but he had barely managed to unsheathe it when Gandalf came down upon him hard. The last man was ripping a page from a book. Gimli turned his attention to that man, just as Legolas swung himself down into the room.

“Legolas, grab him!” he shouted.

In a flash, the elf had the man under the arms, holding him up. But that didn’t stop him from cramming the paper into his mouth

“Don’t let him swallow that, Corporal!” cried the lieutenant, who was struggling to hurl himself up over the edge of the window.

Legolas switched his hold to the throat, trying to still the orc’s ability to swallow.

It would have been fine until Merry and Pippin came barreling in with so much force, they couldn’t stop themselves, tripped over Sam who had been pulling herself over the ledge and they knocked into Legolas. As the pile of them hit the floor, the man in Legolas’ arms gave him a kick in the chest, scrambling to get away even as he was choking on the wad of paper he had swallowed.

Gimli jumped over the pile of his comrades, chasing the man towards the furthest wall. Just as he was about to run off, Strider slung himself up and punched the man in the gut, the paper flying out of his mouth and landing with a wet slosh across the opposite wall.

Gandalf turned from where he had the man under him pinned. “You little fools! Go after the one who ran!”

Merry and Pippin, still in motion, turned to head back out after the man, shoving each other through the window.

Éowyn had his sword at the throat of the man Gandalf had subdued, motioning for the sergeant to get off and tie him up.

“This man’s been poisoned,” said Strider, bending down to hold the orc’s neck up.

“Are you sure?” asked the Lieutenant, looking on with curiosity.

“Very sure. That’s why he has all the strange foaming at the mouth and there is blood coming from his nose.”

“Is there any way to cure him?” Sam’s small voice asked.

“I’m afraid not, his heart has already stopped and the twitching shouldn’t last but a few more moments.”

“Who do you think poisoned him?” asked Gimli.

“My guess was his superiors didn’t want to take a chance on the man living if he was caught, even if he had swallowed the paper,” replied Frodo, “I bet they poisoned the ink.”

“This must be something important then,” Gimli said.

“Why are you laughing, Corporal?” asked Gandalf.

“Well, I always heard of specialized units being told to eat any classified documents before they could fall into enemy hands. Frodo’s suggestion just seems the smartest way to ensure no loose ends.”

Éowyn ignored the comment and made his way over to where the soggy ball of paper sat. “In your opinion, private Strider, is it safe to touch?”

She nodded. “It is likely only poisonous if ingested. But here’s a pair of gloves to be safe, sir.”

Éowyn took the offered gloves and smoothed out the paper, studying it carefully.

“Sir, might I ask why we waited for them to send information which may very well be detrimental to our cause?” asked Strider.

“What do you suppose would have happened if we stopped them part way through the message? Don’t you think the people they were relaying the information to would have gotten suspicious and sent reinforcements here?”

Strider nodded. “I see your point, sir.”

“Instead, we have the advantage of having captured their messaging device without them being any the wiser,” continued Éowyn.

“Indeed, sir. The one problem is, they send in code,” said the sergeant.

“Yes. I had rather hoped that this moist paper contained the key to deciphering it, but this page only seems to be the contents of the most recent message they sent.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” murmured Legolas, rubbing his rib, “but could this book be the rest of the information you gentlemen are seeking?”

“It’s the book that he ripped that page from,” supplied Gimli.

“I am sure that is it, Corporal, thank you,” the lieutenant said taking it in hand and immediately flipping through the pages.

“I hope that last man didn’t get away, He could alert someone to where we are,” said Sam, worriedly.

“He didn’t,” Frodo said gravely, pointing out the window, her face pale.

Boromir was thudding up the hill, with Merry and Pippin on either side, holding a battered and limp body. Judging by the twist of the neck and how little of his head was intact, Gimli felt it safe to assume that the man was no longer living.

“Oh my lord!” cried Éowyn, “What happened?”

“I heard shouting and went to see if you needed help when this man just leapt head first into me. Poor bastard never had a chance,” Boromir replied sadly, trying to brush some of the brain matter off of his shoulder.

“Well, I suppose that means we will have to rely on interrogating the last man then. It’s almost dark, we will camp here in case we need to be around to receive any of these messages,” announced Éowyn. “Gimli and Frodo, see what you can do about giving these two men a proper burial, good and deep and under some vegetation where they won’t be easily found.”  
\-----

They found a spot far enough off the path where there was a natural divot in the ground, nearly invisible under the branches of a large pine tree. There they began the deep grave plot of the two orcs from the message tower.

“How are you holding up, Frodo?” asked Gimli when he had finished clearing the bottom of his side of the pit. “You looked a bit pale back there.”

Frodo nodded. “I’m fine. Sometimes my injury acts up here or there, but Strider says in time that should diminish.”

“I mean, more than just that. You already know, I came on this journey to find my cousins. They’re like younger brothers to me, even though they are older, the devils. But, what brings you out here?” asked Gimli, letting curiosity get the better of him was becoming quite the habit.

Frodo stopped her digging, setting the shovel aside. She wasn’t really much good at it anyhow and Gimli finished up the last of the digging while the hobbit spoke. “You’re right of course, I would not have normally left home. But the Duchess spoke to me and said I had a destiny. She told me I had to be brave and do this task.”

Gimli smiled uncomfortably. There was a look in Frodo’s eye when she spoke of the Duchess that always unnerved him. “Wow, a destiny. That’s more than I have,” he replied diplomatically.

“That’s not true. Even though you may not be a believer, the Duchess told me you have a role in all this as well. She also says that your cousins are safe for now and that if you stay on the true course, you will find them and free them.”

Gimli stood in shock. He didn’t know how to reply to something that sounded so incredibly creepy and a bit insane.

“That’s very kind of her, I’m glad to know they are well. So uh… what did you do before you joined up with our monstrous fellowship here?”

Frodo’s face gleamed in the fading light of the sun, red as though fire was coming from within her. “I was beaten.”

“You were what?” asked Gimli, sure he had misheard it.

“Well, my parents died in an accident and I was passed around between various relatives. Used as a sort of servant then traded when debts or arguments came up.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You have no reason to be, Gimli. You see, I was very fortunate to be given to my uncle. Many say he was mad. A Duchess fanatic, they used to call him. But he never showed me anything other than kindness. He treated me as though I was his own daughter. It was the first time in years I felt like a person. There were times of course when he would have episodes, flashbacks from the war he had been in. During that time he saw a lot of death and destruction and I don't think he ever quite moved passed it."

Gimli could picture it well, many of his father's friends suffered much the same.

"In the war he also met many elves, including the Duchess and she gave him a token for his efforts back in the Battle of the Five Armies. Then one day, he told me that he was given a new task from the Duchess and that I would have to carry forward on my own. I understood and he gave me her token for safekeeping. He told me that when the time came she would call on me.”

“And she did?” asked Gimli, unable to control the desire to hear more of the curious tale, no matter how fantastical it sounded. If nothing else, it was a grand story.

“Yes. Naturally when my Uncle disappeared, my other relatives divided everything up and beat me for causing another mysterious death. They called me a witch and an ill omen. Then one night, when I had almost given up, I held the token up to the moonlight and prayed. That’s when she came to me. She wiped the tears from my eyes and told me to join the army and fulfill her quest.”

Gimli was horrified to even ask what the purpose of this task might be, but he was too deep in to turn back now ,fascinated like watching an empty house burn. “And what are you to do?”

The hobbit turned gracefully towards him, smiling as sweetly as he had seen Frodo do. “I am to take control of the army and end the war.”

He took a step back. This small hobbit, an untrained private in the army, was going to take control of the army? And yet, to look into those blue eyes, you could almost believe it. It was like being under Legolas’ spell, there was a bewitchment to Frodo. Maybe she even was a witch. Gimli decided it was best not to anger Frodo, just in case.

“Well, you have my axe in this venture, Frodo.”

“And we are very grateful for it,” replied two voices, one was the hobbits, the other lighter and more regal.

He swallowed hard and looked around in case Legolas was indeed trying to play tricks on him. There was no way that what he heard could have been real, and yet it was unmistakable that there was more than one voice that had left Frodo's mouth.

Deeply shaken, he thought it best to get through with their task quickly. “I think we need to hurry up and bury these men. Staying too long with the dead is starting to creep me out,” he said, wanting to be back at the encampment as soon as possible.  
\-----

They had taken what they could off the bodies and the captured man. Boots, gloves, mail, even field rations. While earlier on some of them might have protested, they had heard enough of Gandalf’s war stories by now to know it was better just to take what they could.

“Plus, they’ll have better gear than any of you lads’ll get in this army,” he could remember Bifur saying. How long ago had it been since they had left the fort and the old dwarven soldier behind? It seemed equally like it could have been years or minutes. Things had been moving so fast out on the road. Yet they had seemed to always end up alright. He would count on that devil’s luck in every battle if he could.

Devil’s luck? That reminded Gimli of a song that his father’s war buddies used to sing. How did it go again, something about having a Balrog for a sergeant? He chuckled, reciting the words in his mind, picturing Gandalf’s head with the large pointed horns, a long black whip-like tail, and flames bursting from his every footstep.

“And we’ll keeping heading towards advancing blades with our brave heads held high. Even a coward won’t turn about to face the greater wrath of the demon to our backs. Well, boys, at least the sergeant is on our side.” He would have to share the song with Legolas and Strider later; they would both appreciate it.

“Cup o’ slop?” asked Pippin, who had decided to embrace the lingo to get more into her role as soldier.

Both Frodo and Gimli stared back. “It’s tea,” said Sam, clarifying.

“I would love a cup of slop,” said Frodo and Gimli nodded as well.

“It’s pretty good stuff their officer had on him. Just like the Sarg said,” Merry commented smiling at him with a mischievous light to her eyes, lighting up a long pipe of tobacco.

“Where’d you get that!” exclaimed Pippin in surprise.

“It was in the pile of unclaimed stuff over by the Lieutenant’s tent. He told me we could take whatever we wished. Since I helped him, he gave me first pick.”

“You didn’t tell me!” shouted Pippin, shoving her companion’s arm and then ran over to the pile of items. Gimli wandered over to where the hobbit was rummaging through the miscellaneous items.

“Any liquor in there?” moaned Legolas, coming seemingly out of nowhere.

Gimli was startled, but had grown used enough to such a surprise, that upon hearing Legolas’ voice he calmed. After an extra second’s glance he merely turned, shaking his head. “Fraid not, Corp.”

“Bloody hell!” the elf cursed, walking back towards the fire, sulking.

Gimli stifled the urge to reach out and give the elf a reassuring touch. He could see the golden color more in Legolas' eyes these days, the Aqua becoming more and more emerald. The brew he made, if he had managed to do things correctly, still had a while before it would offer any assistance to their corporal's thirst.

The lieutenant called Frodo and Merry to his tent to help figure out the last of the code while Gimli saw about sorting out the officer's laundry. He couldn't believe he had escaped the menial tasks of his inn life only be set about doing the same sorts of work here in the army. Not much had really changed since leaving The Duchess. He was still taking orders from men and surrounded by women.

After a couple of hours the hobbits left the officer's tent, exhausted, but pleased. They had been successful in deciphering the code and learning how to operate the machine to relay the messages.

"Where is the Sergeant?" Éowyn asked, looking about their camp.

"He's seeing to the prisoner, Lieutenant," replied Sam, who was stirring a big pot of what she called ‘Scubét’, a gourmet version of the old scubbo, made with fresh game, herbs, and root vegetables. On the side of the flames, she had a couple of rocks she had rolled in seasoning and set to warm for Boromir.

The lieutenant seemed satisfied and turn back towards his tent. Then he stopped and went pale. "Where are they?"

"Just a little down the hill, sir," Gimli replied.

"Take me there. Now."  
\-----

When they arrived, Gandalf turned, his face betraying his displeasure. "Sir, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Corporal," came the curt reply.

"I was simply asking him about the messages they were sending, sir," answered the sergeant with a grin.

"And where did that black eye of his come from?"

"Guess he must've fallen on his face earlier. "

There was a moment of silence between the two men.

"We broke the code on the messages, Sarg," Gimli said, trying to break the tension.

"Wonderful news, private," replied Gandalf, not looking away from Éowyn.

"We are going to send a false report with coordinates that our men are supposedly hiding out at."

"That's good thinking, Private Gimli."

Neither man moved and the prisoner continued to watch the exchange. Although he had been silent since they had arrived, he finally spoke up. "You seem a more sensible man, Lieutenant. I am willing to speak with you, if you will dismiss this old fool."

"Sir," ground Gandalf, "you should go elsewhere and let me interrogate the prisoner. You shouldn't get yourself involved in these methods. Spies have never surrendered information because you asked nicely."

"I am willing to talk. In fact, I will offer you a deal. You turn yourselves in to me and I will make sure the witch king won't castrate the whole lot of you for what you did to him and his men ."

"We have had no dealings with anyone by that name. Only with Captain Angmar," replied Éowyn, there were dark circles under his eyes that betrayed just how tired he was.

"Come now, you know who it was your men captured and humiliated," said the Orc as though he were a parent asking a child he saw eating a cookie to admit they had done it.

"Yes, as I said, Captain Angmar," repeated the Lieutenant, tiredly.

The Orc captive laughed. "You really didn’t know?"

"This man is a sergeant, sir, let another sergeant deal with him," Gandalf said with a grimace.

"You lot must have the biggest sack of dumb luck I have ever heard of. You really think our Prince's highest general is going to admit his real name if he got captured by a bunch of boys? And then it's some local who manages to free them and of course the story gets spread, humiliating him in front of both armies. He has made it no secret just how badly he wants you all captured. The reward for all of you alive is double the price of you all dead, and that was a pretty sum to start. But mostly he wants the one who kicked him. "

Gimli felt all the moisture leave his body. It was hard to swallow, he couldn't speak if he wanted to.

The Orc sergeant grinned like a cat with a fat mouse in its paw. "So you must be the one then. Figures it would be a dwarf. I had rather hoped it was the elf or one of those soft little hobbits, more fun to watch get pulled apart."

Gandalf struck the man with a stick, hard and fast across the face.

"That's it, sergeant. Send me two more men for guards and keep watch over the camp. You are dismissed," cried Éowyn, disgusted.

Gandalf nodded but gave Gimli a nod to keep an eye on the orc. He turned to study the body language of his officer and the enemy. Despite being bound, it almost looked as though their roles were reversed. The prisoner was too relaxed and the lieutenant too tired and open.

He placed a hand on the hilt of one of his hand axes and kept his eyes fixed on the man. Sergeants are clever, tricky creatures, even their own had admitted that. He was up to something.

There was a brief offering of terms on either side, but no deals made. Pippin and Frodo were sent to guard, Pippin carrying a horsebow so large, there was no way she could possibly fire it properly and Frodo, who was keeping her hand on the hilt of the blade that Gimli knew was still tiring for her to swing.

“Might I have your name, sir?” asked the sergeant.

“Lieutenant Éowyn. And I am sorry for your treatment, Sergeant….?”

“Lurtz. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Éowyn inclined his head in response.

The Orc laid back against the rock besides him. "I am awfully parched being tied up here for so long. Might I get some water, or a cup of tea?"

This was all wrong. Everything was perfect for the man to get away.

"Private Gimli, we have guards now, bring sergeant Lurtz a nice cup of tea while he and I continue to negotiate.”

He looked between the two of them. “What, you don’t trust your Lieutenant’s orders? Or is it you don’t trust your fellow man?” asked the sergeant, his sharp yellow teeth gleaming in the fading light of the day.

Gimli didn’t answer, just narrowed his eyes.

“Go ahead, private, we have it covered.”

Gimli rushed back to the camp where the kettle sat by the fire. The camp was vacant other than Gandalf, smoking his pipe.

“Sergeant, something bad is about to happen. The lieutenant is too tired and the enemy is too relaxed! Why did you send Frodo and Pippin? We need at least one more person. Someone with combat skill.”

The tall man did not move except to lift the pipe from his lips. “The Rupert wanted the area protected, so I sent all our best men to patrol for any reinforcements except for Legolas, who is keeping watch at the tower in case more signals come in. Besides, they have you. That’s four against one. Just keep an eye on that sergeant and everything’ll be fine.”

Gimli made sure that the water was only tepid before he poured the tea into the mug and returned to the clearing, half expecting there to be a scene or at least for the orc to have escaped. But everyone was just where he had left them.

“Would you be so kind as to untie my hands? I can hardly hold the cup the way you have me bound,” the enemy sergeant said in a too innocent voice.

Gimli turned quickly to Éowyn, surely he would see this was all a rouse!

But the lieutenant nodded. “Yes, yes. Gimli, cut his binds.”

“Sir,” he urged half under his breath, not believing that such foolishness was really happening. Their officer was no longer in control.

“I think your boy here thinks I’m going to try to escape.”

Éowyn sighed. “He can see we have him outnumbered, private. Just do as I say.”

Gimli gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling some of the frustration the sergeant expressed earlier. “Yes, sir,” he managed to grind out, pulling out his hand axe carefully so it couldn’t be easily snatched. The orc was grinning broadly as he held out his wrists.

He cut the course rope carefully, then stepped back before handing the tea over.

“Look, he’s a clever one this lad, Lieutenant. Right Sergeant material. He even was careful to make the tea cool enough I couldn’t burn him by throwing it in his bearded face.”

Gimli was about to snap from the tension in the clearing. Frodo seemed to sense it too, but Pippin was still too confident for a hobbit who was carrying a weapon she really couldn’t wield and Éowyn might as well have surrendered already.

After he finished the tea, Lurtz smiled. “It’s a real shame you’re not the one in charge here, boy.”

In one swift motion the orc head butted Gimli hard, knocking him to the ground. Then he rushed forward, kicked the large horsebow out of Pippin’s hand, and shouldering Frodo into a tree, pulling the sword from the hobbit’s belt. Frodo gave out a scream as a knot in the trunk dug into her wound. Gimli jumped up, but was too late. The small sword was at Éowyn’s throat.

The orc tutted, clicking his tongue. “No sudden moves, private. You wouldn’t want to get your officer hurt now would you?” he cooed, then gave out a sharp laugh.

Gimli stayed in place, watching the man carefully. Éowyn seemed to have woken up as the edge of the hobbit’s blade bit into the soft flesh of his neck. The officer lifted his hands up in surrender. “I am sure we can work this out, Sergeant Lurtz,” he started.

The blade flicked to the side, drawing a fresh line of red along the blonde’s neck, silencing him. “Next time, Lieutenant, it won’t be so shallow. And I’m trained to make sure you live long enough to beg for death for hours before you die.”

The two hobbits and he stood, staring at the scene, helpless as to how to proceed when they heard the cocking of a crossbow. Turning he could see Gandalf aiming at the man and the Lieutenant.

The orc turned so that he could hold Éowyn in front of him as a shield. “Now, Sergeant, don’t you care if I turn your officer into sliced meat?”

Gandalf let out a dark laugh. “Frankly, no,” he replied and brought the horsebow up, sighting it.

Lurtz simply laughed in return. “You talk a big game, but—“

The sound as the bolt shot out and through flesh was sickening. Gimli would never forget that awful noise which killed the orc in an instant.

Éowyn stood shaking, looking at the blood as it seeped through his hand from the chunk that the crossbow bolt had taken out of it.

Gimli turned from Éowyn, to the hobbit’s frightened pale faces, to the maniacal features of Gandalf. He truly had not cared. He had known what would occur and he let it happen. Was this all to teach the officer a lesson? The bastard really was a demon.

“Sergeant…,” began Éowyn.

“Good job, sir. You really had everyone fooled there. But you handled it with the same grace as always and I was happy to anticipate your orders, sir. “

“My hand—“

“Will be the talk of ladies all around. Nothing like a scar garnered saving your men to earn respect and admiration,” Gandalf supplied, clapping him on the shoulder. “Strider’ll get you patched up good as new.”

Frodo and Pippin were left to bury the body and Gimli and Gandalf helped the lieutenant back to the camp.

Legolas met them just as they were sitting the officer down on a rock. “What happened?! I heard screaming and—“ his eyes widened as he saw the state that Éowyn was in.

The elf turned his back, breathing heavily.

“Corporal, you alright?” Gimli asked, knowing the answer as soon as the question had left his mouth.

There was no response, only ragged breath and trembling shoulders.

“Legolas?” he tried again, low, coming around to face the man.

The elf closed his eyes shaking his head. “I can’t….”

The camp started spinning, the branches of the trees reaching down towards them. Every blade of grass seemed suddenly sharp and in the distance a strange bird called out.

“Come with me, Corporal. Let us leave the Lieutenant to get his treatment and stay out of the way,” Gimli said, trying to coax Legolas away from the scene without alarming anyone. He gave the sergeant a look and received a nod of consent.

They went up to the tower and Legolas perched on the window, Gimli standing behind him. After a couple minutes, Legolas got his breathing back under control. The once chestnut streaked blonde was now a few strands of gold short of being entirely brunette.

“It was a close call back there,” Gimli said simply.

Legolas shook his head, “It was more than that, Gimli. I knew I should have left, but I couldn’t get myself to move away. For one dizzying moment there was nothing but the sweet smell of blood and the forest knew my intentions. It bowed to me more easily than it has ever done before. It urged me on and I… I wanted to obey.”

“But you didn’t,” Gimli said, turning Legolas by the shoulders to look at him. Legolas’ face was longer and more narrow, almost fox-like, his skin like smooth silver, and his eyes glowed gold like a wolf in the night. But despite all these changes and the fear he felt from seeing the predatory changes, Gimli could still see Legolas in that face. The elf was still holding onto himself and that gave him hope. “You are bigger than this and you can overcome it.”

Legolas shook his head. “I don’t know that I can, Gimli.” The usual smooth tones of the elven voice were deeper and unearthly, but he was not giving up yet.

“I am here with you, Legolas. No matter what happens, I will be at your side.”

The elf reached out a long arm, the nails long and curved like talons, and set it gently upon his shoulder. “Gimli, I—“

“There you are,” Strider said. “Is the worst past us?”

Legolas flinched bodily, letting go of Gimli. “Strider, you reek of blood. You must stay away from me until you have washed it off!”

“I was hoping my rot would be enough to overcome the smell. I will go take care of it. Gimli, may I speak with you a moment?”

He looked to Legolas who gave him a sad smile. “Go on. I can take the time to calm myself here without distraction.”

Gimli followed Strider out of the tower and down just outside of camp. “I have bad news, my dwarven friend.”

“Is the lieutenant alright?!”

Strider nodded. “He is fine. The bleeding has stopped and he is stitched up. So long as he doesn’t hit his injury, all will be well.”

“Then what is it?” he asked.

“The antiseptic, the one that was to be used as an emergency for Legolas,” Strider began, “it is all gone. There was extensive damage to the tissue and an artery has been lacerated. It had been a long-shot to begin with, but now we don’t have it.”

Strider pulled something out of her pouch. Gimli gaped at it in horror, shaking his head. “Strider, I can’t take this.”

“Gimli,” the ranger said seriously, putting the implement into his hands, “you made a promise.”

He looked down at the iron stake. There had to be another way!

"He's still holding on to himself, I am not saying to go up there and drive it through his chest. But things are looking dire and I need you to be prepared in case something happens."

Boromir trudged towards the two of them and Strider turned and walked off.

He pushed the stake into his trousers, using the cord at his waist to tie it to his leg. Legolas was upset enough, he didn't need to see this too. Plus, even if Boromir saw what it was, it was best to make it obvious that it shouldn't be made known that he had it.

"The lieutenant wants to go ahead and try sending out the false reports now. He told me you are to start getting camp prepared to move out. Probably best to send the corporal with me to patrol while they are messing about up here. He can't hurt me and I'm no temptation for him," said the stone golem, "but it's probably best if you're the one to tell him. "

"That's good thinking, Boromir. I will go get him."

Gimli headed back to the tower. Legolas' hair was a little lighter than when he'd left, but the vines which had wound themselves splinteringly tightly around the window sill were more worrisome.

"Lt. Éowyn wants to hurry and send the messages out and move along. Says he's worried about lingering so close to where we can be found. You and Boromir are to patrol for reinforcements before we head out. "

Legolas nodded standing. No, not standing, Gimli saw, but lifted by the vines to his feet.

Fear took root in his heart. It was possible that Legolas would be able to use the compliance of the forest to help them. But these seemed like dangerous forces to use so lightly. He knew not how old Legolas was, but no doubt forest spirits were older still. They said some of the trees had been here since the first age.

"Will you be joining us?" asked Legolas in a voice that made him seem far away, and Gimli could not be sure if the elf meant Boromir or the spirits.

"I wish that I could. But I am to make ready for us moving out."

"Very well. Will you still ride with me?" Gold eyes met his.

"Of course," came his earnest reply. He wanted to lighten the mood, to make a joke that might bring back the playful grin he had grown so fond of upon Legolas' face. But his mind came up blank.

"Thank you," Legolas said, slipping out the window and off to meet up with Boromir.

Gimli went to where the vines had now gone, deep scars were left in the wooden support beams and mortar of the walls alike. The grudge Legolas had mentioned the forest holding seemed all the more real.

He did not care to linger any further and headed back to camp, passing Merry, Frodo, and Éowyn on the way down. They had the cipher book and a notebook of the lieutenant's. One carried by each of the hobbits. Éowyn's hand was expertly bandaged so as to look like his gloves and had he not been looking for it he may not have noticed it at all.

Gimli couldn't say he was going to be sorry to put this place behind him. He knew things would probably only get harder here on out, but the sooner they were out of the woods and to someplace where they could get Legolas alcohol, the better.  
\-----

There was a comfort to being back on the road. It didn't hurt that when they traveled his arms could stay wound around Legolas' waist. He tried not to think too hard on it, knowing that in his pack he carried the iron stake, its purpose continued to weigh heavily upon his mind.

Gimli determined that he would not use it. Not if he could come up with any alternative. He wondered if animal blood could work instead. Surely he could catch something out here. Gimli made up his mind to ask Strider about if it might work when next they stopped. But would the ranger have given over the stake if there had been such a simple solution?

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it.

At the sergeant’s suggestion they made camp in a shallow ravine along a finger of the river. It was barely a stream there, but it provided them with sufficient cover and freshwater. They were getting very close to the border now and soon they wouldn’t be able to make fires. Luckily, they were covered enough here to keep the smoke and light undetectable unless one was close by and they relied on Legolas’ enchantments to disorient the sense of any that might come near.

After Gimli had brought food to Éowyn and gone back to the fire to do his shift guarding the camp, Sergeant Gandalf came and sat across from him.

He stared back as the man fished a small metal tool from his waist satchel and began cleaning out his pipe.

The silence was broken when Gandalf finally spoke. “Alright, Private, spit it out.”

“Spit out what, sir?”

“Don’t play games. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me that you have something on your mind you need to say. So go ahead, say what’s on your mind.”

Gimli took a deep breath. “You killed that man, Sarg.”

“This is war, killing happens. Besides, would you rather me have left him to hurt the Rupert or made us turn ourselves in?” asked Gandalf.

“I meant, you knew what was going to happen and you just let it. No, actually, you orchestrated it so that it would happen, didn’t you?”

The sergeant gave a total look of innocence. “Why would you accuse your dear Sarg of such a thing there, lad?”

“Why else would you send an over-confident Pippin, with a weapon you know he couldn’t handle, and Frodo, who is still recovering from his injury?”

A small smile curled upon the man’s lips. “You are very observant. But more than that, you are able to put things you see together. I knew when I saw you you would be good officer material. Now I’m sure of it. One day, you’ll make a decent sergeant yourself.”

“I won’t be a sergeant, Sarg. I’m here to get a job done and go home. It’s that simple,” Gimli replied. It chilled him that both Gandalf and the orc Lurtz had said the same thing about him.

Gandalf let out a mighty chuckle, straight from the gut. “You know, I said the same thing myself when I was a private. Told my sergeant to his face that I would be out after that battle. But here I am, decades later, looking out for my little lads.”

He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “You either die early or live long enough to become a demon yourself”. His father’s companions had said that all the time when they reminisced about war.

Suddenly something clicked in his mind. A man devious enough to let that situation happen was capable of dark things. “You ran Corporal Sméagol off too!” Gimli exclaimed, unable to stop himself from saying it.

The sergeant beamed proudly. “How did you figure that one out?”

“We could all see that he was scared. But it seems awfully strange that he ran that night. He didn’t try to stick it out for the money and he was clearly afraid of death. So what would make a man risk execution for desertion? Only some bigger danger could have done that. A danger that came just in time for you to pull out some little known rule allowing you to rejoin command.”

“Well, I swore to you all that I would protect you boys and that’s what I intend to do. There isn’t even a rule that allows you to rejoin, but I find that officers only ever read the rulebook when they’re looking for something to use against you, so I knew it would be a safe bet. You really will make a damn fine sergeant.”

Gimli suspected that the song “My Sergeant is the Balrog” must have been written specifically for Gandalf. It was just too true to be otherwise.

“I’m going to go and check to make sure everyone’s staying hidden on their patrols. As you were, Private.”

“Sarg, what does it matter? We can’t be hidden in our uniforms. We’re bullseyes in the dark, let alone during the day. No matter how in shadow we stand or how similar our shape is to our surroundings, we are still clothed in bright red against and brown and green forest.”

“Well, don’t you want to show how proud you are that our army had the money to supply us with these expensive red uniforms, the color to match the pride we have in serving our kingdom?” asked Gandalf, incredulously.

“Yes, Sarg, but I just don’t want to wake up dead in it.”

The smile returned. “So, what do you propose we do about it? Being caught out of uniform is a punishable offense.”

Gimli scratched his beard. “I’ll come up with something.”

“Please do,” the sergeant said, rising and heading off to make the rounds.  
\-----

When Legolas returned back for his chance to rest, Gimli watched as the vines created a hammock up off the ground, just above sight level. The elf took a bunch of leaves, sticking them onto his uniform, and crawled up to sleep.

A light bulb went off in his head. They just had to cover up the red. Mud or dirt could dull the brightness and leaves could be added to blend in more. Leave it to the elf to inspire him how to blend into the woods.

When Gimli went to wake Éowyn that evening he offered the idea as a way to help them avoid further confrontation. At first, the officer was hesitant, being the sort of man that preferred to stick to the rules. But he argued that they wouldn’t be violating any protocol because they’d remain in their uniform.

The lieutenant agreed and everyone went to the creek bed to gather silt and mud to coat their uniforms. Each man was paired off to make sure that they were completely camouflaged. Boromir took several handfuls of soft dirt and caked it onto herself, but he needed more than one person to assist her. Merry and Pippin helped to add twigs and leaves on her back, climbing all over her and having a grand time of making patterns on her stone.

Sam and Frodo were both very meticulous in aiding one another, as were Strider and Éowyn. The sergeant insisted that he wanted to do his alone. That left Gimli to work with Legolas.

Legolas shook his head. “It was bad enough that your hair clashed so much with the color of the uniform, but how are we going to hide your mane?”

“Oh I am sure you can think of a way, master elf. Not all of us were born and bred in the forest, you know.”

A wicked smile crossed the elf’s face and Gimli suddenly regretted all he had said.

Legolas’ fingers were in his beard and moustache, intertwining reindeer moss, flowers, and magic. Similar treatment was used upon his hair. Over the shining metal clasps in his beard and hair, Legolas braided vines. Gimli looked down at his reflection in the shallow water and he didn’t recognize himself. He looked as though he were a mossy gnome, all brown haired and sprouting living plants from all over his head. “What did you do to me?”

“I think you look lovely. And now you’ll blend in perfectly to your surroundings.” The slender hand went back to his hair once more, weaving a seven stranded braid with what looked like a ribbon of gold.

When Gimli turned questioningly to him, Legolas turned away. “It’s a charm. For good luck,” the elf said shyly.

Gimli reached up and added a braid to Legolas’ hair. He slipped a spare beard bead from his pouch and clasped the end of the braid with it. “For luck,” he retorted, knowing well that the braid was more than that. He suspected from Legolas’ behavior that either the ribbon or the braid he now wore bore some meaning beyond luck.

They did not speak further that day, but stayed close by one another until dusk was upon them and they had to move out again.  
\-----

When they made camp in the morning, Éowyn announced they were only about three days from the fort at Osgiliath. A mix of excitement and trepidation came over their party. It was about two months since they had joined the army and received orders to march southeast.

Now at last it seemed their journey was ending and their real fight was to begin. None who were there during Lurtz's killing spoke of how the general of Sauron's armies was seeking to capture and torture them. But ever since Frodo had had a strange hollowness to her look. It was clear the words haunted her as they neared the front lines.

It was still a relief to be nearing their goal and ahead of their earlier estimates. They were beginning to run low on food and who knew how much longer they could go before Legolas broke.

The elf had spoken while they rode of how he was beginning to smell how much life force each of the company had, how being near Strider caused him to be overcome with nausea, and that he was starting to get scared. The elf had not used the word scared, nor had he been intending to imply it, but Gimli could tell by his word choice and mannerisms that fear and hunger were tugging at him harder and harder by the day.

They rode further behind the others on the road. Gimli also noticed that Legolas was trying to spend more time away from the rest of the company. It was a matter of safety for all of them. The only ones the corporal let near him were Gimli and Boromir.

After camp was made Legolas and Boromir were sent on a perimeter check while the others ate. Everything seemed normal within camp.

Strider sat down besides Gimli, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the braid, but she turned away and said nothing.

“He hasn’t told me the meaning behind the braid nor the ribbon,” he said, curious as to their meaning if Strider could provide the answers.

“It is not my place to divulge the meaning if Legolas does not wish to tell you. But know that it is no ribbon that decorates your hair.”

Gimli was content to know at least that he was correct about it being more than luck, or else there would be no reason for the ranger to keep it from him. But he was curious about what the gold was if not ribbon. He stroked it with his thumb and it felt like silk.

After a moment of silence Strider spoke again. "He is getting worse, isn't he?"

He nodded, knowing there was little point denying it from the only one besides Legolas with any experience in the matter.

"I assumed once he began avoiding me. His senses are probably hyperactive right now and I am sure I am no olfactory treat for him."

"He did mention you could use a bath," Gimli joked, trying to hide his anxiety.

"We are close now, but things are only getting more dangerous. Remember you made a promise and are responsible for whatever comes should he lose control. I hope you are keeping what I gave you close at hand."

"I keep it on me, just as you suggested," he replied, patting his leg where he had it tied just under his trousers. He felt guilty for taking Strider's advice, as if it meant he was betraying Legolas' trust. But looking to where the hobbits were busily laughing and talking by the fire, he couldn't help but take every precaution.

While Strider and Gimli were cleaning up after their meal, Frodo and Merry had a turn at getting sleep, and Sam and Pippin had been sent on patrol. Legolas returned suddenly, warning them that he had seen a small goblin encampment just to the southwest of their position. Looked to be a four goblin scouting party.

Éowyn left the orders up to Gandalf. Gimli assumed it was his pride still stinging from their last encounter.

"We will need a small reconnaissance team. I don't want to send too many in case it's a trap and they know of our location. Legolas, you'll be in charge, we'll need your eyes and ears anyhow. Find Boromir and take him with you, no telling what the goblins are up to and they won't get far with him around. And for your last member, take Gimli. He's clever in case you all get in a bind. If you run across Sam and Pippin, send them back to camp, I want every man at the ready here just in case. Strider, go wake up Merry and Frodo and get them ready too. Make sure they are prepared to be on the defensive. Now go."

Legolas seemed relieved not to have any of the hobbits with them. Gimli knew that they would be safer in camp where Gandalf and Strider could keep an eye on them anyhow. They had spirit, but they still lacked the skill to properly wield their weapons.

He and Legolas met up with Boromir near the edge of the goblin camp. "So far they still seem unaware of our presence. All but those two have gone to bed," Boromir said, pointing to where two goblins were quibbling over a leg bone. What creature it had been taken from Gimli felt it best not to speculate. Goblins and orcs were related distantly to elves, he had heard it said, but they were known to have a greater appetite for flesh of all kinds.

As Legolas leaned forward, it seemed the trees and shrubs nearby were looking on with him, bending to see what he saw. Perhaps the goblins were not the only ones thirsting for death.

"I don't know what we can find out from up here," Boromir muttered, "all they seem to do is yell at each other."

"Good point," Legolas purred, "let's get a closer look at our friends. We are to remain hidden though. If you are spotted, kill whoever sees you and move on."

It was a more absolute order than he had expected of the elf, but he understood why. They only needed to keep one alive for questioning anyhow and it was best not to risk alerting others. They couldn’t be sure of how many there were and it was best not to take a chance on things coming to blows.

The trees rustled as strong gusts of wind blew towards them. Legolas sent Boromir ahead, traveling in the direction of the breeze so as not to be heard. One goblin, dressed in brown leather, managed to get in a good uppercut on the other and claimed the bone as his own, snapping it in half and greedily sucking at the marrow inside.

When Legolas was sure that Boromir had gotten into position around the back he turned to Gimli. There was an energy with the way Legolas held himself that promised carnage. "Shall we make another bet, since the last one wasn't settled?"

"I think in the interest of objectivity, we should wait until it's an open battlefield. One where there are more factors in play," he tried, wanting to avoid unnecessary violence in case it triggered something in Legolas.

The elf pouted. "Fine. We shall wait until a real battle. I will provide a distraction, you go on ahead."

Gimli sighed in relief. "Yes, sir"

A boom of thunder sounded, then dark clouds rolled in above the camp. Gimli picked his way carefully between the trees, a thick fog rolling right in front of him.

Just then there was a rabbit that hopped into the camp. The goblin that had not won the fight, licked his green lips and got down into a crouch, trying to keep from disturbing the rodent or alerting his companion to its presence.

Gimli managed to get behind one of the skin tents and peered inside. The interior was dry and filled with weapons. An awful stench came from within and he wasn’t sure if it was the sleeping occupant or something that had died inside.

Knowing he would have to brave the smell, he took a last deep breath of fresh air and unhooked the bone clogs holding the opening shut against the weather. Slipping inside he saw several missives with rough sketches of their fellowship, the bottom of each bore a large number of stamped coins and an eye, the sigil of Prince Sauron's house.

It had been something else long ago, a dove or a hawk, the stories were all different. Prince Sauron had killed his father as a pledge to serve Morgoth, a figure of legend, supposedly the King of hell, or so they said. No one had lived to tell of ever meeting Morgoth, save the prince. Gimli even heard it said the reason he kept the prince title was because Sauron thought of Morgoth as the King he served and thus he would not take the title until one higher was made for his lord.

The goblin at his side tossed in his sleep. Gimli's hand went to his hand axe, silently slipping it from its sheath.

The goblin continued to stir. Before he could take a chance of the thing waking, he grabbed one of the missives, shoved it into the thing's mouth, and slit it's throat. It tore at his arms with dirty fingers, trying to gain purchase, and leaving scratches along his bracers, but Gimli held the thing in place, keeping it silent as he could until it ceased twitching.

Grabbing a scrap of cloth, he wiped away the thick black blood from his hands and arms. He did not want anything to encourage Legolas to attack. Pilfering through what lay in the tent, he grabbed a water skin, two knives, and some stale bread, and shoved them into his pouch. Then he headed towards the next tent.

He saw the one goblin still creeping behind the rabbit as it slowly wandered away from the camp. He slipped into the next tent. It was empty save for the same missives. He slipped back out and saw Boromir, holding a goblin by the face. It was not moving, although Gimli wasn’t sure if it was dead or unconscious.

Suddenly the goblin in the brown leather took notice of his companion’s absence. “Snaga?”

Gimli and Boromir did not move.

“Ugluk?” he called, sounding suddenly very alone.

There was no answer.

“Grishnakh?”

The thick fog rolled by like waves lapping at the shore of the goblin’s ankles. Gimli watched from the side of the tent, not wanting to move until he knew it was safe to be out in the open.

Suddenly the thing screamed, pulled down to the ground. Gimli stuck his head out to see what had happened. One last horrible noise, a scream cut short by the sound of tearing flesh and the crack of so many bones broken at once. The fog dissipated little by little and Gimli saw the two halves of the body, torn clean in half, the vines responsible untangling themselves from the limbs.

He put a hand over his mouth. Death he had witnessed, but the sight of a man’s entire innards on the outside was more than he had been prepared for. Gimli turned to Boromir in fear, trying to keep the contents of his last meal down. “We have to find Legolas. Something’s wrong!”

Boromir dropped the goblin in his hands to the ground and they took off in the direction that Gimli had seen the rabbit go. It didn’t take them long to find him. The body was wrapped around the trunk of a tree, almost lovingly, as though he had hugged it. As they approached the limbs of the oak loosened their grip and the goblin fell to the ground.

It was easy to find Legolas after that. He was not far off, staring at his hands.

Gimli went towards him and the elf turned, his face that same shining silver pale and his eyes glowing gold. “Stay back!” he screamed. His hair, no longer blonde, but dark brown, floated around him as if caught in some mysterious breeze.

If only there could have been a bottle of alcohol on those bloody goblins he could do something to help! Or at least if the waterskin of homebrew that was fermenting were done, they could just run and bring it. Sadly, it seemed that fortune had turned against them at last.

“They’re down here!” came the sound of a familiar voice.

“Pippin?” asked Boromir, “Aren’t you supposed to be back at camp?”

Pippin waved at them with Sam just behind. “Well how do you like that, Sam? That’s no way to greet a friend. And no, no one told us anything about that. We heard a scream and figured you all must’ve found something. Sam didn’t want to come but I thought we had better make sure you all didn’t need help.”

“You two need to get out of here,” Gimli warned, seeing that Legolas was trying his hardest to contain himself, even as the trees around him seemed to move in closer to his body.

“No, we’re not going to let you three have all the fun,” protested the young hobbit.

“C’mon, Pippin, let’s go,” pleaded Sam, tugging at her arm. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Then there was a crack of a branch breaking and they turned to see a goblin, crossbow in hand.

Legolas turned towards the hobbits his arms raised. “No,” came the elf’s voice, loud and shrill.

Gimli remembered it feeling like he was watching the scene from outside himself. Vines and branches grabbed at the goblin. The bow went off. The bolt zipped passed them, grazing Pippin’s cheek and taking a couple centimeters out of Sam’s shoulder.

Then Legolas had the creature’s head in his hands. The skull collided with trunk, with root, and with rock.

And suddenly time sped back up again.

Legolas was staring at the blood on his hands, his body trembling, hair turning black before his eyes. Gimli reached up inside his trousers and pulled out the stake. He wouldn’t use it, he told himself. It was just a warning.

The elf bent down and licked a streak of black blood from the fractured head, then spat in disgust.

He took a couple of steps backwards, trying to put distance between them. “Legolas, get a hold of yourself.”

The elf turned to Gimli, tilting his head. The gold eyes were now slitted and there was no sign of recognition in the gaze. He could have been a fish in a pond or a leaf on the tree.

Legolas sniffed the air, then his gaze focused singularly on the two hobbits.

“Boromir, the hobbits!”

Boromir looked at him.

“Go! Go now!” he cried, putting himself between Legolas and the others.

The predatory eyes of the elf turned to him. He was merely an obstacle between the hunter and his meal.

Gimli held the stake aloft. “I made a promise, and by Mahal, I do not want to have to keep it. Snap out of this you sodding elf!”

Legolas hissed at the stake. Even in this state he knew what it was.

Boromir snatched Pippin and Sam in her arms and began running back towards the camp.

“Gadolir tin!” Legolas screamed and the trees swung out, aiming for the hobbits in Boromir’s arms. Boromir held the two small bodies close to her fending off what she could until a tree root tripped her, sending all three of them sprawling to the ground.

The golem managed to snatch Sam up in time, but a tree pulled Pippin up and away before Boromir could stop it.

“Agoreg vae, Doronfang. Feiratha,” said the elf loving, bowing his head to the oak and placing a hand upon his heart. Then he turned towards where the small body was being passed towards him.

"Avosto, Henig. Udulen an edraith angin." purred Legolas, his long slender arms stretched for the little hobbit like a parent reaching to hug their child. It was truly a perversion of the loving gesture.

Although none of them there spoke elvish, Pippin seemed to calm at the words, the fear leaving her eyes, replaced with compliant curiosity.

Gimli rushed forward, brandishing the stake like a club, ready to strike the elf back with it.

Legolas turned, growling, and threw him aside as though he were merely a gnat. Gimli had managed to get a small hit on the bare hand and Legolas recoiled from Pippin for a moment, the trees stopping, if only briefly, while the elf licked the red spot on the back of his wrist.

Boromir tried to fight her way to her feet but vines latched tightly around both arms and legs, pulling her to the ground. She was saying something to Sam, but Gimli couldn’t hear it with the distance between them.

Pippin was suspended in the air before Legolas and the elf smiled sweetly at her, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. The now taloned hands stroked back the hobbit's dark curls from her face and he leaned in, licking the trail of blood that ran from her rosy cheek.

"U-sinnen i naun ro-velui" said Legolas, turning Pippin's face up towards him.

This was it. If he couldn't stop Legolas now, it would be too late. He sprung from the ground and rushed at Legolas, dodging a tree limb that tried to sweep him out of the way, but the closer he got, the more branches came down upon him, lashing his body with their thin whip like branches. It wouldn’t work to simply run at Legolas. He needed to get his attention.

The only thing that seemed to do that right now however was blood. He unbuckled his bracer, tossing it to the side, and took a firm hold on the shaft of the iron stake.

"Legolas!" He shouted, driving the iron point deep across the side of his arm.

The elf turned, eyes lighting up at the trail of blood that was dripping down Gimli's arm and onto the forest floor. Legolas spun on his heels and was suddenly in front of Gimli, only leaving a short distance when he saw the stake was still in hand.

It would only take a moment more for the elf to find a way to disarm him. If he was going to strike, it had to be now. All the muscles in Gimli's body tensed, preparing to spring in a single motion

The wind caught the elf’s black hair and Gimli saw the braid he had put there, the brass bead on the end glinting like a star in the night. He knew then that couldn't kill Legolas. His body relaxed. His heart would not bring his hand to harm the elf, despite everything. He had promised Legolas he would use his life to keep him from losing himself and Gimli planned to keep that part of his promise. Perhaps if his hunger were satiated Legolas would become himself again.

Gimli let his muscles relax and threw the stake towards Boromir. The elf grinned, having no more reason to be wary of a dwarf. The adrenaline had already began to wear off, his slashed arm screaming its presence to him in burning stings.

Gimli held out his arm, hoping that this would work and that he was not giving up his life unnecessarily. A small part of himself said that Legolas might taste his blood, and remember who he was, and everything would be normal again. But he knew better than to believe his heart. He just hoped that the others could rescue Fíli and Kíli since he could not. Gimli did not want to die, but he would not let himself break a promise to the person that mattered most to him.

His back slammed onto the ground, Legolas atop him, gripping his arm with an unnatural strength. His back was wretched by a stone under his left shoulder and his right leg was twisted under him.

"Avosto, maethor veren. Oltho vae," said Legolas softly into his ear and Gimli had to blink as he felt the meaning of the words, rather than understanding them. His body relaxed completely and Legolas trailed his tongue over the cut. Immediately the pain stopped, replaced with a pleasant sensation. As far as ways to go went, this one was not so bad. He felt as though he were being wrapped in a warm blanket.

"You can still be yourself again," he murmured, feeling more tired than he had in his life. Tears stung his eyes, fear of the unknown starting to dawn on him, strong enough to break through the spell he was under. This wasn't what he had wanted. Damn that no good corporal Sméagol! He would have cursed the Orc who shot the hobbits too, but he had already gotten what he deserved.

"I love you, Legolas," he said as his eyes fluttered closed. He leaned forward with the last of his strength and kissed Legolas at the corner of his mouth. There was so much he wished he could have said or done.

The feel of Legolas' on his arm was somehow arousing. As he drifted into sleep he felt his body pulsing with sensation. Every part of him felt like it was alive. Somewhere in the background he could hear Sam and Boromir shouting his name.  
\-----

_There was an intense light, as though everything around him were bare before the power of pure brightness. His eyes slowly adjusted and there was his mother, her long curly brown hair and matching beard meticulously braided, glancing down at him from above. “My precious daughter, continue on the path you were born to follow. Mahal has a plan for each of us.”_

_Gimli blinked, glancing around the room from where he lay in the bed. He was back in his room at the Duchess. It was mid-spring and the sounds of the farmers singing their planting songs was drifting in through the open window. But this couldn’t be real, that happened twenty-eight years ago._

_“Mother?” he asked, still trying to discern if this were a dream or if he was dead._

_“It’s alright, my jewel. You just had a knock on the head from your cousins. I know you were just looking out for them, but you have to be careful! It’s not a woman’s place to be swinging an axe around in the first place.”_

_“Mother, I just—“_

_“Hush now. You know if we didn’t have the inn you would have been trained on the forge like any other girl, but we have the coin to make a better life for you than just that of a smith. Rest for now, in the morning you can scold your brothers,” came the deep baritone on his other side._

_“Father!” Gimli cried, turning to see his father, less grey than since his mother passed._

_“Don’t you start with me, lass. They may not be your brothers, but they are your blood and you all have grown up together sharing a mother and father.”_

_His mother giggled. “Rest for now, in the morning you can tell Fíli and Kíli that they have to dig the new pit for the privy.”_

_Gimli smiled. He remembered just how upset the two of them had been as they slaved away at the task, leaving Gimli to watch them from inside._

_“Thank you, mother. Father.”_

_They stroked his beard and hair and left him to sleep. He closed his eyes with the intention of sleep, but found himself awake again. This time he was in his cousins’ room, sitting on Kíli’s bed._

_Fíli was tugging confidently at the lapels of his riding jacket, his chest puffed out proudly. “I can’t wait to prove to those Ironfoots how strong we are! I’ll show that I’m a greater fighter than my mother or uncle ever was!”_

_“That’d take Mahal’s own hammer and a miracle,” laughed Kíli, tossing a pair of underwear at this brother’s face._

_Fíli pulled it off with a scowl. “You should be glad you don’t have to go off to war with this useless sod,” his blonde cousin said, leaning in fondly towards him and giving his short beard an affectionate tug._

_Gimli beamed at the pair of misfits. He remembered this day. It was the last time he saw either of his cousins. Ever since their mother died saving the king in battle, Gimli and his family had taken care of them. In fact, it had been Dis’ courage to slip into the company of Thorin Oakenshield under the guise of being her own son, that had given him the idea to first join the army to rescue them in the first place. Of course Thorin had known it was his own sister, but Queen Dis always had a way to ensure that Thorin would do as she asked. Her death was a tragedy to the kingdom, one that was only furthered when Thorin himself took mortal injury while slaying the orc general Bolg._

_And now, after many years of keeping Fíli and Kíli hidden from the enemy’s knowledge, King Dain sought them out as a symbol of hope. He argued that putting the former princes on the battlefield would inspire others to fight for their cause._

_It had, for a while. But more and more of Mordor’s forces flooded their lands and bit by bit the casualties grew until no one else wanted to send their sons. Perhaps that was why nearly all of their unit was women now._

_The unit! That’s right, he had things to do! While he was busy dreaming of the past, who knew where his companions were. Would Legolas have managed to get a hold of himself? Surely the unthinkable hadn’t happened. Legolas would live, that was why he gave himself up, after all._

_Legolas…_

_And then he was walking beside the elf in the forest on patrol. Legolas turned to him and began to sing the haunting elvish song. It was that patrol they first went on together. This was when they first got to know one another._

_He never had learned what the words to this song meant, but they had sounded so sad and lonely. The melody reminded him of dwarven songs of women who lost their husbands and lovers to war. There was a sort of longing, a yearning feel to it, although he supposed he had no way now to ever find out._

_“Legolas,” he murmured, wanting with all his heart to be able to go back in time. If he could only warn them all of what was to happen. If there was a way he could keep that slimy Sméagol from destroying the bottles of alcohol, even just one, it might have prevented all this. Or if he could have realized there was a way to make alcohol sooner into their journey, maybe he would not be here reliving happy moments of his life as it ebbed away from him._

“Iston i nif gin,” said Legolas’ confused voice, but it couldn't be Legolas because the elf was still besides him, singing. “Gimli?” _He drew closer and took the slender hand._

“Gimli! U!” The voice was closer now, twisted in anguish. _He looked around, trying to concentrate on where it was coming from. The harder he tried to focus, the more his body began to hurt. He let himself relax into soothing sounds of the sweet voice. There was no pain or suffering here, only a cool feeling spreading up his arms and legs._

“Amarth faeg! I didn’t mean for this!” the voice cried again.

Was he hearing what was actually happening? Could he be regaining consciousness?

“Get away from him, demon!” shouted Pippin at a distance.

“No! I won’t leave him!”

Gimli was satisfied, he was giving his life for something worthwhile. He thanked Mahal, the Duchess, or whoever might be responsible for giving him these last moments to know that his life was being used for something good.

“Aragorn! Boe de nestad! Please! I don’t know what happened. I didn’t… just help him!”

Who was Aragorn? Was Legolas calling for an angel to help him?

“We will talk about this later.” The voice sounded like Strider, but…. “I can fix the wound, but he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if he is going to make it.”

“But you know the healing arts, don’t you?” asked Sam’s voice.

“I can only do so much. He is already so weak and any tools I had to do a transplant were stolen from me,” answered Strider.  
There was a moment of silence and then Legolas’ voice came rushing out. “Do you know how to perform Iar-nestad?”

“I learned how, but I’ve never actually done it before,” Strider said nervously, “And even if I had, my blood is mostly human. It’s too risky, Legolas. You know what he will become should I not succeed.”

“Take my blood. It’s the only way!” pleaded the elf, his voice strained as if through tears.

“That doesn’t guarantee that this will work. What will you do if it doesn’t work? What then? Do you think this is what he would have wanted?”

“I will not let him die to save me from my own weakness! I know who you are, Aragorn, daughter of Arathorn. I know you have the power to do this. Now perform the ritual!”

“You are the heir of Gondor?!” exclaimed Boromir.

“I am no queen.”

“It is your birthright by the blood and power that flows through your veins. Now take what flows through mine and save Gimli before it is too late!”

“Fine!” shouted Strider, “if this goes wrong, you will be the one to deal with the consequences. I will not clean up the aftermath of another fallen companion!”

“Thank you,” Legolas said sincerely.

There was a heavy sigh. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

Gimli heard sounds, but no more voices. He strained to hear what he could through the pain. The coldness was now pulling at him. The colder he got the more numb to the pain, but something told him not to let that take him.

“Gimli, if you can hear me, you need to find your way to back to us. This is going to be hard, even painful, but no matter what happens you need to stay strong! You still have your cousins to look after and you know we can’t handle the Rupert without you,” Strider was saying, her voice close to his ear.

On his other side came Legolas’ voice. “I do not expect you to be able to forgive me for what I have done, but I need you, Gimli. Please come back to me. Gi melin.”

“Are you ready, Legolas?” asked Strider.

There was silence, the hissing of teeth, and then a bitter taste in his mouth. It was like he had swallowed a mixture of iron, dirt, and herbs. Something was moving along his throat, coaxing the awful liquid into him. He tried to fight it, to sit up, and spit it out. He wanted to tell them he was here and could hear them and that they could stop feeding him the disgusting medicine. But as hard as he struggled, his body remained cold, heavy, and unmoving.

Strider was speaking to one side in a language he did not know.

“I will not lie to you, things are going to be getting even more difficult now, but you must not give up on us, Gimli. You believed in me when you had no reason to and I am not going to give up on you. Show us your strength and do not to forget who you are,” Legolas whispered into his ear before joining Strider in turn. He could feel the tight hold the cold had on his limbs, as if they had been clasped in lead.

He could feel the liquid traveling down his esophagus and into his belly. It was as if it were a living thing, spreading out inside him and grasping onto him from the inside out. What were his friends doing to him? What danger were they submitting him to in order to try and save his life?

The numbing darkness that clung to him promised an end to pain and suffering if he gave in and let it. He could hear the chanting of the two by his side and as they continued, the voices got faster and clearer, the pain spread out its tendrils within him.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in his chest. What was happening? Had he been stabbed? It felt as though his lungs were filling up with liquid. Breathing became difficult.

“Keep fighting,” came the sound of Legolas’ voice inside his mind, “do not give in no matter what”.

He gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air. A burning heat raced through his blood, setting every part of his body on fire as it went. Gimli thrashed, but felt numerous hands clamp down on his arms and legs. He pulled at them, trying to fight them off, but they held him firmly.

Bit by bit his ears became flooded with sounds. They were filled with the breathing of living creatures nearby, each movement of the leaves on the trees, even the stream burbling in the distance. Every minutiae of sound deafened him with its terrible cacophony. The world was closing in around him and there was no way to fight it. A searing pain inside his ears soon followed.

Just when he thought he could handle it no longer, the smells began to affect him. The sweat of his companions, the stench of Strider’s rotting flesh, and even the pungent odor of the coagulating black blood of the dead orc, bombarded him until he thought he might gag.

Gimli wasn’t sure if his body could take much more or if it might explode. He couldn’t control what was happening, his body seemingly losing all control to the sensory overload. It was just too much. He needed to get away! He tore an arm free and swung widely, not even sure what he was fighting, but knowing that he couldn’t let himself be taken by whatever was happening to him. Each sense that started to exceed its limits did nothing to keep the last from being just as hyper sensitive.

Then he tasted death on his tongue. He had not know you could taste a thing so keenly, but it was there. A thirst unlike any he had ever known filled him. It was unquenchable and stung his throat with an icy burn. It was soon followed by an intense hunger that bit at his insides. He was starving so painfully, all the while the sounds and smells around him made him nauseous. He felt dizzy. A singular high tone entered his hearing and he wondered if this might be the sound of the end, all other noises fading away.

Then his senses all clicked in place at once, focusing singularly. He could hear, even over the sounds of the chanting, the rhythm of a steady heartbeat. The smell of something sweet, the thing that his body was craving, filled his nostrils. He could almost taste how delicious it would be. Soft and tender and warm. All he had to do was get to it and his pain would be over.

His eyes opened and he saw further than he had ever seen before. Past the canopy of the forest he could make out the movement of birds, and beyond that, clouds. Everything was so vibrant and vivid. He turned towards where the aroma was coming from and saw a bandaged Sam, holding one of his arms down with both hands.

“You two, go with Boromir and head back to camp. Boromir, let the Lieutenant know we will return as soon as we have finished tending to Gimli’s injury,” Legolas ordered and the hobbits let go of Gimli and went hesitantly to Boromir, horror drawn upon their small faces. He wanted to tell them not to leave, feeling as though what he needed would soon be out of his grasp, but he could not yet form words.

Strider did not cease his chanting, even as Legolas spoke. His eyes were lit with a purple flame, which Gimli did not like the look of. His hunger cried out to him as the hobbits moved further and further away. He hoped that it would pass, but the pang of the thirst compelled him and he began to sit up, pushing through the pain with pure need for sustenance.

Legolas put his hands on Gimli’s shoulders to hold him, but he pushed Legolas back, sending him several meters away without any effort.

“Gimli, this is just the memory of my hunger inside you. You are experiencing all of the symptoms of the withdrawal, but you need to fight it. If you don’t, you’ll lose yourself and turn into maethor en-glamor.”

The rank odor of death and rot that clung to Strider was too much for him to bare. He went to grab the ranger, but Legolas had his arms, forcing him once more onto his back. When he tried to sit up again, Legolas straddled him, keeping him from sitting up.

Gimli growled back at Legolas, a primal noise that came from deep within him. He wasn’t going to hurt the hobbits, he just needed…. What? What was it that he even needed that would stop his hunger without hurting them? His mind was still his own, but he could not reason why he needed to do this. And yet, he had to. “Let me go!” he shouted and both Strider and Legolas looked at him in shock. For an instant Strider stopped chanting and a horrid pain shot through him, his head feeling like it might split open. Immediately the ranger continued and the pain subsided to manageable levels.

“You can speak Sindarin now?” asked Legolas, shock still obvious on his face.

“Of course not. Now let me go, I’m fine.”

“You will kill someone if I do,” said the elf frankly.

“I just need to get something to eat or some water. Bring me something and I’ll be fine.” Even as he said the words, he could feel that simple food or drink would not satiate him.

The elf had a look upon his face that Gimli couldn’t read. He looked Legolas up and down, unsure of what he would do. He could see just how tense each of the muscles of the taller body were. But a glance at Legolas' ears determined he felt apprehension.

“Gimli, can you hear me?” came Legolas’ voice inside his head, although his mouth did not move.

“Yes,” he said, hunger held momentarily by his curiosity. “How are you doing that?”

“Good, then I need you to see something.”

“See what?”

The irises of Legolas’ gold eyes slitted the same as they had done earlier when he was not himself. Gimli stared into them for one moment and then suddenly he was someplace else. It was cool and moist like the inside of a cave, but the air was fresher.

_“It is time, daughter,” came the smooth voice of someone he did not know, and yet he understood this was his father._

_He stepped forward, his eyes adjusting to his surroundings. It was a vast hall, the familiar stonewalls coated in plush moss._

_His father stepped forward, long silk robes trailed behind him as he walked. His long silver hair was pinned away from his face and an elaborate crown of living, blooming quince wreathed his head. “Some of our allies have sent young maidens as a gift for you on this, your coming of age.” His father looked to a man standing by the entrance and the man turned to someone outside the room, gesturing them in._

_The guards filled in five girls, all humans, and none seemed to be far from having entered their womanhood._

_“I will not interfere with your choice. But may I suggest the young lady from Dale. Aside from her beauty, she has the delicate bouquet of piety about her.”_

_Gimli glanced about at the faces of the girls, stepping towards them. One young girl was staring ahead, almost catatonic. Two of them had tear-streaked faces, but were not actively crying, only trembling in fear. One girl was clinging to another, sobbing hard. But it was the last one that caught his eye. She stood proud, noble even._

_“What is your name?” he asked._

_“I am Erendis, my princess,” she answered, with a bow._

_“You know what is to be your fate, then?”_

_“Yes, your highness. I volunteered when I heard of the task.”_

_“You volunteered?” Gimli asked, taking her hand and leading her away from the other girls, even as the one still tried to cling on, whimpering about not leaving them alone with elves. A guard came and pulled her away, letting Gimli and the Erendis go off to a side chamber._

_Two glasses of Dorwinion wine were poured and they talked for a while of her life as a minor noble in Dale and he spoke of his time hunting in the forest of the Greenwood._

_Finally, the conversation came to a close. They both knew what it was to be._

_“Thank you for listening to my story, your highness, and for sharing your wonderful tales with me,” she said smiling, tears forming in her eyes, “I am ready now.”_

_He brushed her long curls from her throat. “It will not be painful after the first moment. You will fall into a dream where you will recall the most precious moments of your life. We will share those moments together and you will fade deeper into slumber until you breathe no more.”_

_She was trembling, even as she was visibly fighting her fears. He laid a hand gently across hers, giving it a small squeeze. “I will make sure your family is well looked after and your people will be under the protection of my father from here on. You will stay in my memory for as long as I live. Part of you will never die, Erendis.”_

_She nodded, smiling through the tears and he kissed her. “Thank you,” she breathed, and he leaned down and bit into her neck, feeling the warmth of her life pour out beneath his fangs, filling his mouth._

_She screamed only a moment as the he pierced her, then sighed contently. She relaxed, moaning softly, and stroking his hair, her free arm wrapping around his back. Her memories started playing in his mind, becoming his own._

_For a moment he realized he could stop. He knew he should. If he did, she might yet live. But hunger compelled him forward. Just another moment more, just a few more drops and he would stop. He did not stop._

_Little by little her strokes slowed, then fell limp. He drained her, feeling his cheeks wetted with tears from her memories. When he pulled back from her cold body and looked at her pale and peaceful face, he felt nothing but remorse. Taking the entirety of her life was so much more overwhelming than drinking a glass of blood at dinner or eating a fillet of mortal flesh. His earlier meals gave him only the shadows of memories, pieces of life experiences, but never anything complete. He had seen all her greatest joys and those who she loved most._

_Lifting her lifeless body in his arms, he carried her to the bed and carefully laid her out, sitting by her side and speaking with her about the things that brought him joy in his own life, until his father came to check on what was taking him so long._

_The King gave him a look up and down and congratulated him. “My gentle blossom, I am so proud of you. She is gone to a peaceful place without pain or sorrow, what is left behind is merely a shell. The memories are vivid and hard to deal with for the moment, but they will fade and become easier as time passes. Come now, it is time to present you to the other lords and ladies who have traveled so far for this moment.”_

_“Father, I can’t. She was…. She should not have died for me.”_

_ _

_“I know you feel that way now, Legolen. But this too, will pass. Now have yourself another glass of wine and be ready to be your usual radiant self for all of our guests.”_

_“No. I will not go out there and celebrate as though this is some sport. It is butchery disguised as a rite of passage!”_

_His father’s arm shot out like lightning, pulling him to his feet. “Legolen, you are a princess and it is time to start acting like one! I have let you have your way for far too long. I remember how difficult this was for me too, but you have to press on and stop acting like an ungrateful, spoiled child. Now you have twenty minutes to say your farewells to that corpse and pull yourself together before I will have the guards come and drag you out. I expect you to be ready.”_

As suddenly as he had gotten there, Gimli was back in the woods looking up at Legolas, his cheeks wet from tears.

“What just…?” he was confused. What had he just seen?

“Gimli you’re back!” the elf threw his arms around his neck, holding him close.

“Legolas… I….”

Strider stood up beside them and Gimli realized he had not heard the chanting. “I will give you two some time, but it would be best to return to camp quickly.” With that, the ranger left.

Gimli wiped the wetness from his cheeks and then put his hands on Legolas’ face, looking up into the familiar bright blue eyes. “I knew you would come back to us,” he said, stroking the pale cheek.

“Gimli, I did not mean to lose myself like that. I almost… I almost…” the thin body trembled above him.

“That dream, with the girl. Was that you?” he sat up, running his hands through the long silken strands of white blonde hair.

Legolas nodded. “A memory. It is centuries old, but no less painful, despite my father’s reassurances. Each life I took, still haunts me, but hers was the worst. The last memory she had before her life was spent, was of her sister. It had been her dear little Belitha who was selected to be my gift that night, but she bribed the escort to have them switch places so her sister would live. She was noble and true and should not have died. My father even selected her as the best choice.”

“I can only begin to understand what it must have been like for you. There was a while there where I felt the hunger. For a moment I could see as you see, to feel as you do. The world is a very difficult and overwhelming place without being so attuned to every detail. Being able to fight that hunger for so long is something you should be proud of. I have never met a woman with such strength of will, and that’s saying something coming from a dwarf. You know we are as stubborn as the rock is hard.”

Legolas laughed. “I do know how hard-headed you can be, certainly.”

They smiled at one another for a moment before Legolas spoke again. “I saw them in your memories; your parents and cousins. You bear them such deep love, I know why you have taken on such a difficult task to save them. And we will, Gimli. If I have to slay every Mordor soldier from here to there with my bare hands, we will rescue them.”

Gimli nodded. “You’ll have to save a few of those soldiers for me, Princess,” he said with a smirk.

Legolas gasped in mock shock. “How very dare you, King’s cousin!”

Gimli chuckled. “Can I ask you one last thing before we return?”

The elf looked back at him and tilted her head like a curious bird. “About what?”

“When you were… you know, what was it that finally brought you out of the hunger?”

Legolas looked down diminutively, suddenly seeming so fragile and young. She raised her head slightly, grasping hold of the braid in Gimli’s hair and he saw the once gold ribbon was the same white gold of Legolas’ hair. “You did.”

“No, I meant the exact—“

“It was you,” said Legolas, staring into his eyes like she was exposing the secrets of her soul. “You thought of me as precious enough in your last moments to remember. I knew how I felt about you, but I did not expect that you might be able to return the feelings, even if you had wanted to.”

Gimli smiled. “You elves are not as wise as you are rumored to be, then. We dwarves don’t just go around kissing everyone we meet.”

A warm wind swept up some leaves nearby, spinning them in a circle.

“Well, may I kiss you then, master dwarf?”

“You may, master elf,” he replied, leaning forward.

They kissed, gentle and hesitant at first, neither one wanting to push the other too far, but as they continued they grew bolder. Their kisses grew more passionate and Legolas dipped her tongue into Gimli’s mouth and he slid his own against it. Her long slender arms wrapped around his back, sliding along the curve of his spine.

Gimli’s hands sought for purchase at the elf’s belt, intending to gain access under the light mail that he wore, but her hands were laid upon his. “I think I would be neglecting my duty as your Corporal to not have us report back in with the others after so long an absence. Let us continue this when we are not in the middle of a mission and people are not worried about if we slain one another.”

He nodded, even though his body surged with physical desire. Gimli had seen enough of the consequences of losing one’s head to desires for one day to know when to listen to reason.

“You’re right, Corporal, we should get back before the others leave us for dead.”

They disentangled themselves from each other and stood. Gimli noticed that on his arm there was no longer any sign that he had ever cut himself. He looked over where a scar should be as Legolas grabbed his bracer off the ground and handed it to him.

“I’m not eager to repeat that ritual you two did earlier, but it is a pretty neat trick.”

“You are lucky to have survived it. I suppose dwarves are a harder folk than humans. Very few survive consuming elf blood and those that do mostly end up becoming a sort of lost soul. Vicious blood thirsty men that know nothing but the hunger to consume mortal flesh and blood,” explained Legolas.

Gimli was somewhat shaken by the thought that he had drank blood and that he might have become something worse than dead. “Then I am glad that you were there to call me back to my senses.”

“It was only because you had consumed my own blood that I was able to make a telepathic bond with you. Only those with elven blood are able to communicate in such a way under normal circumstance. It allowed me into your mind.”

They came to a stop on the side of the camp. They both were nervous about getting back to the others. How would they be treated after the events of the day? He feared more for Legolas than he did for himself, but the image of the two hobbits looking at him with those huge frightened eyes came to the forefront of his mind. He had become a monster for a short while, but no doubt they would look even less favorably on the one responsible. Four lives were put in danger and Gimli had himself nearly perished. He would not soon be able to forget the way Legolas had torn the enemy apart.

On top of that, Gimli did not know how he should act around those he had endangered. Would the hobbits even speak to him again? And what of the lieutenant who he was supposed to care for? He wasn’t sure how much of the incident would be mentioned to their superiors, if at all. It was entirely possible that upon hearing what had occurred that they would both end up discharged from service for the danger they posed to their fellows.

He took a deep breath, squeezed Legolas’ hand, and then they let go, walking back into camp.

“Private Gimli and Corporal Legolas reporting for duty, sirs,” he said, saluting the sergeant.

Gandalf nodded at him. “You two are late, but I am glad to see you both are back unharmed. Now if you ladies don’t mind stopping your game of braiding each other’s hair and get to pitching in and helping to pack up the camp, it’s nearly dusk. Private Gimli, you’ve been neglecting your duties to the Lieutenant and Merry has had step in for you. Now get to it.”

“Yes, Sarg!” he saluted again, giving Legolas a last look, and ran off towards Éowyn’s tent.

“And you, Corporal! I expected more from you, you’re not a private anymore.”

“My apologies, sir,” Legolas spoke calmly. “I will make sure it does not happen in the future.”

“See that it doesn’t.”  
\------

The next two days they were on the road again. When in camp, Pippin avoided both of them fervently, particularly Legolas. Merry didn’t avoid them, but he seemed cautious of the elf. Gimli felt awful about it, but there was nothing he could do since the hobbit would go find Boromir whenever he attempted to apologize.

He was relieved when the Fort came into view in the distance. They made camp in a covered area and looked out at the fires in the distance. They had found the armies.

Legolas observed that Mordor had taken control of Fort Osgiliath and that the last of their army, mostly warriors of Gondor, were entrenched outside of the fort. The two armies seemed to be at a standoff and currently neither was attacking the other. Perhaps the alliance army believed they could starve out the troops of Mordor.

“Alright, men,” said Éowyn, once the encampment was set for the day, “things look bad. I won’t lie to you, we’ve lost the fort and I hear many of our officers were captured. But the last thing the enemy will be expecting is for us to join the battle. We don’t have a lot of experience, other than the sergeant, but if we can use stealth to our advantage, I believe we may just be able to catch them unaware. All we have to do is find a way into the castle.”

There was an uneasy murmur amongst the men.

Sergeant Gandalf stepped forward. "You know, Lieutenant, I think of myself as an optimistic sort of man. But it seems to me, if we intend to sneak into this castle, we should rouse a bit of support from our troops on the outside, just in case something goes wrong. Who knows, maybe we'll find a few men there to join us on the inside."

"I appreciate your seasoned advice, Sergeant, but this is something we must do on our own. If we join with the main force the enemy may spot us and we would lose the element of surprise. As it is, they believe that we've headed north to enlist the aid of the Cavalry of Rohan, many were left to guard the city in case of a surprise attack while our main forces are diverted at the fort here. But the less they know of us, the better."

"And how do you suppose a bunch of barely trained boys, no offense lads, is going to take over an entire fortress occupied by some of the most savage of Mordor's warriors?"

"That is enough, sergeant," said Éowyn calmly, "I have made my decision. We can discuss the tactics in my tent this evening in private. For now, I want watches posted. I want to know who is coming in and out of the fort at all hours and why. Gimli and Merry will be runners. I want you both to take shifts going between our scouts and me. Anything happens out there, I want to know about it immediately. The scout teams will be Legolas with Strider and Boromir with Frodo. Sam and Pippin, you two will be working with the sergeant on preparing weapons and supplies. Dismissed."

The shifts were set and for once there was little merriment amongst any of the ten of them. Everyone was taking things seriously now that they had finally come to the edge of the battlefield, reality beginning to dawn upon them all. There was an edginess in the calm determination by which everyone worked.

Here they were, eight women who had snuck into the army under the command of an inexperienced pride-seeking Lieutenant and an experienced killing machine who passed himself off as a simpleton with a big heart. It was hard to believe they had managed to make it this far. Whether it was sheer dumb luck or the power of some supernatural being that had brought them to this point, he doubted they would ever find out.

Typically Gimli agreed with the Sergeant's decisions, but he could see that there was a strategic component that Éowyn preferred to utilize that served them well. If the two weren't so stubborn and could see eye to eye, the company would probably be able to take on even greater enemies.

So far their success with surprise attacks had served them well, but they had no experience as of yet with direct confrontation. Although he agreed they could use reinforcements (or at least some way to contact the main army about their plan), he shared the Lieutenant's fears of losing their advantage of surprise.

For three days and two nights they stayed in their spot and observed. No fires were lit and they finally broke into their field rations of jerky and lembas. The hobbits took the small portion sizes the hardest of all, and Gimli offered Pippin his jerky as a peace offering. The taste of meat had taken a bit of a different flavor to him since his experience with elf blood, and he had found it difficult to eat anymore.

Pippin seemed to forgive him after that, admitting that he was mostly upset about Gimli staying by Legolas' side after the incident. The hobbit hadn't understood how you could so easily forgive a person who had nearly taken your life. Gimli explained, as best as he could without exposing the secret of his and Legolas' blossoming relationship, how he didn’t believe it to be the elf's fault and shared a little of his experience with feeling the hunger when it had overcome him. Some of the tension between Pippin and he and Legolas relaxed, but the looming threat of real battle prevented a return to their earlier friendship.

By the third night they were all called for a strategic meeting. Each pair of scouts shared their findings and the weapons team gave a full detail of all materials that could be used in a raid. The conclusion of the meeting was that the only people who entered or exited the Fort were a trail of what looked to be local washerwomen.

“Traitors, the whole lot of them,” muttered Éowyn under his breath.

“Now, Lieutenant, I would not be so quick to judge. Just because there is a war doesn’t mean you don’t still need to eat, stay clothed, and pay taxes. I am sure these poor women had little choice to help themselves and their families.”

The officer hung his head. “I suppose you’re right sergeant, I should not judge the lengths by which people must go to survive the ravages of war. We have had to bend the rules ourselves and even veered away from honor from time to time to succeed.”

“It is a shame though,” said Gandalf, with that tone that told Gimli that he was baiting a line to try and catch Éowyn, “if only we had a woman in the group. Why, a woman could just slip on in with the others and find the opportunity to let the rest of us in later.”

Everyone looked around tense, suddenly wondering if they were about to be outed by the sergeant or not.

“That’s it!” exclaimed the lieutenant as if he had just come up with the most brilliant idea on his own.

“What’s it, sir?” asked Gimli with trepidation.

“We don’t need a woman, private. You see, all we need is for one of us to dress up as a woman and slipped in unnoticed,” Éowyn explained, his eyes lighting up with pride.

“I think our lads would be noticed pretty quickly, sir. They are, truth by told, young and prone to all the actions young men take,” argued Gandalf, scratching at his beard. “It’s a shame there’s no sophisticated slightly older lad to take on this mission.”

Gimli saw Legolas about to speak and he swatted his thigh to distract him, knowing that it was best not to tempt the wrath of the sergeant when he was scheming.

“You’re absolutely right.” Éowyn unbuttoned his jacket and pulled his hair out of its ponytail. “This is a job that requires delicacy and an understanding of the fairer sex. I shall do this personally. I will infiltrate the fortress and find a way to sneak you all in the same side entrance within a couple of days afterwards.”

Gimli could feel the smile Gandalf had hidden behind his old grey eyes, the plan he had conjured coming to fruition. With the lieutenant out of the way, there would be no one to keep him from doing things his way. He wondered how long Gandalf had been looking for a way to get rid of the officer he couldn’t control.

“Sir,” came Frodo’s small voice, “how will we get you to look like a woman with your uniform and all?”

"Now if any of you boys have taken anything that might be useful, now is the time to share it, no shame in curiosity about women or their things," Gandalf said cheerfully.

There was a nervousness and then Merry spoke up. “I have a petticoat in my bag,” the hobbit said shame faced.

“That is a good start!” exclaimed Éowyn.

“I have a dress I grabbed back in Rohan that I’ve been using as bandage fabric,” said Strider, “It has some rough spots, but it’s wearable.”

And so little by little a patchwork of clothing was brought out and arranged for the lieutenant. All the pieces were different sizes and so Sam and Strider set about altering each piece so that it fit the officer.

Once everything was finished they stared at the man in amazement. His curly blonde hair and soft features were not unlovely to look at and with his beard shaven he could physically pass himself off as a woman without too much trouble. The real problem was the way he spoke and moved.

The voice he had shared with them was by far the worst falsetto any of them had ever heard. It was impossibly high for a normal speaking voice and it kept cracking like the man was going through a second puberty. Each sentence he ended with a fake sounding giggle that could set anyone's teeth on edge. And if he heard one more time about how, “I could just bake you the loveliest pie but my corset’s too tight!” he was going to choke the man with the blasted corset and be done with it. Pippin tried to assist Éowyn, saying he had had two sisters and insisting that she could help, but the lieutenant wouldn’t hear of it.

“I appreciate your help, but I played the heroine in all five of our productions of ‘The Shield Maidens of Rohan’ at the annual performances back at headquarters. I was always told by my superiors that they had to double check to make sure a girl hadn’t snuck in to play the part.” Éowyn chuckled at the memory and if possible exaggerated his caricaturist portrayal more.

Everyone feared that the man was going to get himself caught before he even made it to the gate. The way he was swinging his hips wildly when he displayed his 'perfect feminine walk' was more than anyone without a medical condition would do. Éowyn would take a single step and jut out his hips as far as they could go without him falling over, before taking the next. It was not only unnatural, it looked dangerous.

Their camp was moved to the ridge overlooking the fortress, just an hour's hike from the side door.

Éowyn passed his officer’s badge and other effects to Gimli for safe keeping until he could return for them. He told them he was going to be using the name Nelly and instructed them all to keep an eye on the landing to the East side where laundry was set to dry each day. A red cloth would be put out as a sign that they were to come after dark to the side door to be let in. Then the lieutenant hoisted up his top, which was stuffed with two round fleshy looking things that no one wanted to ask Strider how he had managed to fashion, and set off down to where the trail of other women were approaching the side entrance.

The whole company peered down over the hill, holding their breath as Éowyn got closer and closer to the front of the line. Other women in line gave him looks, but mostly ignored him and his ridiculous walk. He just smiled at them and kept swinging his hips like he wanted to knock people out of his way.

At last he got to the front and many of them took each other’s hands, praying for a miracle.

To the astonishment of all present, the two guards smiled at Éowyn and he playfully slapped one of their hands. That guard laughed and waved him forward. The whole company stood slack jawed, unable to comprehend. Then to blow their minds even more, the other guard gave him a swat on the rear and Éowyn turned and blew a raspberry.

“He… made it?” stammered Strider.

“I guess Nelly knows what she’s doing,” said Boromir, standing and leaving to patrol the area for enemies.

The others only nodded in disbelief and went back to their assigned duties.  
\-----

Days went by without any sign from within. When Gimli pressed Gandalf about what they should do, he only shook his head. “These officers have these grand ideas, but he has probably overdone things and gotten himself captured.”

“Sir, I know you wanted to get rid of the Rupert, but don’t you think this plan was a little dangerous?"

“The corporal said that they’ve been taking everyone prisoner to lower morale and try to force a surrender. That fort has extensive prisons. I am sure he’s nice and cozy with other officers who were captured. Maybe he’s even entertaining your cousins, private.”

"I wish I could believe that was true," sighed Gimli.

"I will grant you the man has rocks trying to infiltrate such a large fortification. But I wouldn't attempt what he is asking with a hundred men. There are too many unknown factors within. Maybe if we could bribe someone on the inside and got months worth of intelligence we could have a chance, but we don't. The man is blinded by his ambition for glory and it going to get us all killed to go along with it," said the sergeant.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“I already thought you were speaking freely, but go ahead,” laughed Gandalf.

“We can’t leave him there, Sarg. I joined to free my family and I think of every man here, even the Rupert with his grandiose ideas, as family now. We have to get him out.”

Gandalf gave him a scrutinizing look, and then leaned back, staring at Gimli in silence for a long moment. He stared back at Gandalf, Gimli was not going to change his mind.

“Alright," the sergeant said with resignation, "Go get any of the others who want to join you on this suicide mission and report back to me. It’s past the time the washers would be putting laundry out for the day now, so we know we have time to formulate a plan.”

Gimli turned up soon after with the whole regiment and you could tell that the sergeant was a mixed of disappointed and proud of them.

“Alright men!” called Gandalf when they all arrived.

"That's another thing, sir. We aren’t actually men,” admitted Gimli, finally deciding it was time to disclose their secrets, now that it had a chance of aiding them along the way.

“Nonsense. You’re all my little lads,” replied the sergeant.

“I don’t think you understand, Sarg. We are all women,” explained Legolas.

“I heard private Gimli when he said it and I knew when you all joined up what you were. Well, I didn’t know about Boromir, but it doesn’t quite matter with golems, no offense.”

“None taken, sir,” Boromir replied genuinely.

“What I am telling you all, is this. It’s not what you are under your clothes that makes you a man or not, it’s how you appear to the rest of the world. You put on the right attitude and shove a pair of socks down your trousers and you are the same as any other soldier. You all joined up as my little lads and that’s exactly what you are until you leave the service. Now, we’re heading down to the camp to get you all some disguises so you can try to pass as ladies.”  
\----

Over the next couple hours they gathered everything essential to their mission, leaving anything else behind. They made a deep pit and gathered all the things they couldn’t take with them, bundling them in blankets and placing them into the ground. When they had covered it all over with dirt, Boromir placed a boulder atop, marking the spot for if they made it back this way. Gimli was confident that there were few around who could lift such a large and heavy stone even if they did guess there was something beneath it.

Frodo asked for a brief moment of prayer and the Sergeant nodded. The rest of the fellowship trailed off to finish their duties in hiding the leavenings of the camp and to try and remove the camouflaging from their uniforms, Sam gave Frodo a squeeze on her shoulder before slipping away. The hobbit bent down on her knees and prayed at the stone for them all in what they were about to do.

Gimli had lingered, though he was not quite sure why. Maybe a part of him wanted to believe that a greater power was looking out for them. Maybe it was curiosity after their last private conversation. Whatever the reason, he remained by her side until Frodo was done.

The small frame rose. "I didn't think you were a believer," Frodo said, even before she turned to face him.

"You can never have too many support beams in a mineshaft," he replied. "If there's any power to your prayers, I am happy to receive it."

"You stopped praying because of your mother, right?"

Gimli froze. He had shared a lot of things with the company, but had never mentioned his mother.

Frodo inclined her head. "If we falter but a little in our trust, all will fall to ruin. But should we stay true to each other, we will not fail."

"I just have to believe, right?" Gimli said nervously. "I am not sure if I can believe in the Duchess, Frodo. But I know I can believe in the strength we all give each other."

The hobbit gave a serene smile. But the smile was not Frodo’s, the corners of her mouth held at a different angle. Then a moment of clarity hit him and he realized, it was Frodo’s face, but it was the exact smile of the Duchess you saw in all the portraits. His blood ran cold.

"She understands that. Just know that there is no need to fear, Gimli, she will guide us all. You must continue on the path you were born to follow. There are many plans for you. It is why she is standing behind you now."

Gimli felt at that moment someone behind him and he spun around quickly, facing nothing but thin air and the trees. His heart was racing, but he was comforted by the fact that a deity wasn’t actually standing besides him.

Turning back to Frodo he apologized. “I didn’t see her. Sorry.”

There was no disappointment on her face though, if anything, there was joy. “You may not have seen her, but you did look.”

He swallowed audibly. It was so unnerving to spend time alone with Frodo. It was almost as if she could alter the world to fit her reality. “I suppose I did,” he said by way of diplomacy. “Shall we return to the others to face our task ahead?”  
\-----

With the greater part of the dirt and branches removed from their uniforms they all looked like they had been living in muddy trenches for the past two months. It helped however, as they came upon the enormous encampment of the alliance army and slipped in with the rest of the soldiers without anyone seeming to notice them. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Several people stared at Boromir, but when no one else was acting worried, they went back to whatever they were doing.

The real person who stood out, was not their golem, not their ranger, not even their hobbits. It was Gandalf. So many people took notice of their sergeant, clasping an arm here, extending an invitation for drinks there. It seemed like there wasn’t a man around who didn’t know Gandalf personally. Regardless of age or rank, their sergeant seemed to have been everyone’s sergeant at some point or another.

Gimli could not even believe how far the camp stretched on and on. It was an entire city, its buildings tents instead of wood homes. He had pictured the place to be nothing but unwashed men and their weapons, but he could see women and children moving about just as freely and at home as they might inside a real village. There were clear market areas, sections that were solely for housing, and even a clear red light district. He had never imagined it would be so like the life he had outside of war.

As they walked by the tented brothels a sinking feeling filled his gut. The sergeant had not led them past this area for nothing. They had needed women’s clothing after all, what better place to find it than where there were so many women getting paid to have many outfits that they got out of?

They rounded the corner of what counted as a street and headed towards even less savory looking establishments. Even their horses seemed to sense that trouble was headed their way. At the last tent in the row they came to a stop. An older dwarf woman was standing in front of the entrance wearing a dress that might have appeared posh if it were not several sizes too large for her. Her red hair looked as though it had once been immaculately pinned up, but it had since begun to come loose. She looked like a fancy pastry whose cream and toppings had started to melt off to the side.

“And what can I do for the young heroes and their officers?” she cooed, walking around Gandalf, her eyes roaming hungrily for a money pouch.

“The boys here and I just narrowly escaped a pack of orcs. Had to crawl through muddy tunnels in the dark for 2 weeks, but we are finally out. Ready to have a bit of a celebration, miss,” Gandalf said taking a hand and smoothing down his grey hair as if he were bashful.

“I always appreciate rewarding the brave men of our army for the service they do our kingdom, but as a poor woman out here on my own, I can’t afford to do it as an act of charity. That won’t be a problem I expect. ”The woman seemed unconvinced that they were worth her time.

“Of course, miss,” the sergeant said, grabbing the reins of Éowyn’s horse. “We haven’t gotten our wages, but this is a fine horse, one that we were able to capture from the goblins. It’s yours if you let our boys have their first times with a woman. They almost died without ever enjoying the pleasures of a woman to warm their bed.”

The woman inspected the horse carefully. Surely a well-bred warhorse was worth more than the whole of them enjoying themselves, if that had been the intention that is. “I suppose we could accept it, on account of you lads being heroes and all. I will warn you, I only have enough space for four of you to go at a time right now, unless you want to double up in the rooms. And sorry to you, Mr. Golem, but I can’t let you in on account of the threat that it would pose to my girls. The ranger’ll cost extra. You can tie the horse up on the side there.”

Gandalf agreed to her terms, saying the other half of the group would continue to another establishment. Both Merry and Pippin volunteered to go first. Gandalf sent Sam and Frodo to go along and Gimli suspected it was to keep the other two out of trouble. The rest of them waited outside the entrance to the tent and he noticed that Sam was looking particularly red-faced as the auburn haired proprietress lead the four hobbits into the tent, running a finger under Sam’s chin with a grin. Gimli wished them the best of luck, not know what the outcome might be.

They walked to the next tent over and waited for any sign of their companions emerging or needing assistance. Gandalf’s instructions had been quite clear, get an opportunity to snag a couple of dresses and then run. It had sounded so simple when they discussed it earlier, but as they continued to wait, he could see it might be harder than he initially thought.

After about 40 minutes two hobbits came streaking out of the back of the tent, piles of clothes in their arms.

“Fly you fools!” hissed Gandalf to the two. “Get to the horse and meet us around the corner!”

The two hobbits threw their bounty onto the back of Éowyn’s horse and untied it, leading it swiftly away from the bawdy-house. The two girls scurried as fast as their short legs could carry them, slipping away around the bend of the road.

A couple moments later Frodo and Sam appeared at the front of the tent, Sam looking more than a little flushed and faint. Frodo was helping to steady her. “Sorry again, madam. I think it was a little much for him all at once.”

"Well he's welcome to come back again once he's gained his nerve," called the proprietress, blowing Sam a kiss.

Once the woman stuck her red head back inside the tent, Gimli waved them over to where they were hiding. The two scrambled to make it out of sight off the road and the group moved carefully to where Merry and Pippin had stopped with the horse and their prize.

“That was a close one, Sarg,” murmured Boromir.

“It was. But for once these two little weasels’ sneaking about came in handy,” laughed Gandalf heartily.

“If you thought we did well, you should’ve seen Sam in there. What a lady killer!” snickered Merry. Sam was entirely crimson to her ears.

“It’s true! He must have had seven different whores try to convince him to choose them. One even offered him a discount!” Pippin said.

“It was awful!” cried Sam. “I’ll be glad to get back to fighting orcs. Those women were not a decent sort.”

Frodo giggled. “I think that’s the point, Sam.”  
\-----

The company went to a far edge of the encampment where the trees met the tents and waited until nightfall, staying out of the light of the many cooking fires. Two by two they all changed into the dresses getting help from one another with their lacings and adjusting each other’s outfits so that they would give themselves a more feminine figure, padding where they needed. Most surprising of all, Strider came back with her face smoothed. All of the rotting areas had been replaced with new supple skin, the source of which no one dared to ask. She had even managed to comb the greasy dark hair back into a bun where the oil looked like it was put in purposefully to keep things in place.

Gimli made sure that he was paired with Legolas. It was a silly thing, he knew, but he would be jealous of anyone else that might get to see the elf undress. If anyone was going to be the first to witness Legolas nude, he felt like he should be the one.

Legolas lead them to a spot just past a couple of trees, where they would be out of view of any passing soldiers that managed to slip by the rest of their company. As soon as it was safe, Legolas moved quickly and in no time even her tunic was up over her head. Gimli stood staring at the bare pale back, delicately curved as Legolas bent down to unlace her boots.

The lack of movement beside her caught the elf’s attention and she turned to stare at him. Gimli was glad the dark would hide some of his embarrassment. “Did you need something? A closer look perhaps?”

“I know, I know, you’re not a display. Look, I’m sorry,” he said, turning to look down and work on unbuckling the belts he wore that were laden with his many weapons.

A hand gently lifted his chin, fingers stroking softly at his beard. “It was an invitation, not an admonishment,” the elf said low, pulling away just enough for their eyes to meet. “Do I fit the description of those wicked elven maidens in your stories?”

Gimli felt desire surge within him as he took in the sight. “You are more beautiful and cunning than any of the wicked temptresses of our tales.”

Legolas laughed freely, brushing her hair away from her face. “I am flattered to hear it. But what of you, Gloin’s daughter, is more than just your language kept a secret outside of your people?”

“It is supposed to be, certainly,” he replied, feeling rather self-conscious about how the elf might find his shorter and stockier body. Where the elf’s exposed skin was bare as a newborn, he had patches of thick red hair on his chest. Would his lover find him unappealing to look upon? Would he be rejected afterwards?

Legolas looked on for a moment and when she saw him not moving, she returned to removing her boots. Gimli did not want to be rejected, but he knew he was going to have to change if they were to get into the castle. Besides, if they were ever to pursuit their feelings for one another he would eventually have to reveal his body to her.

He dropped his belt to the ground, took a deep breath, and pulled his mail and tunic over his head. The tangled clothing hit the ground with a jingling thud.

Gimli stood there and looked down at her chest. Her large dwarven breasts, the kind that even "good" dwarf men lusted after, stared back up at her. She saw her thick hair and remembered the pride her mother had taken in her becoming a full grown woman. He body was not an elf’s body, but neither was it a man’s. She lifted her head.

She had spent so long rejecting who she was both outwardly and inwardly that she had forgotten how to be proud of herself. Being a strong warrior did not mean she couldn’t still be a woman. She was both.

Legolas let out a small gasp and Gimli turned towards her, half expecting it to be a sign of rejection. That would hurt, of course, but she would no longer feel shame for who she was.

The elf stared back at her and the look she found there reminded her of when Gimli had finished her song all those weeks ago. It was an expression of wonder, not of disgust.

“You’re beautiful,” Legolas breathed, long fingertips resting gently upon her small breasts. “Like the statues of Yavanna.”

“Says the elf!” she replied incredulously, “I am well enough looking for my own people, but hardly the likes of a goddess. Now stop staring and get yourself dressed before the others coming looking for us again,” Gimli said, unlacing her trousers and shoving them off as quickly as possible.

“You look like the statue in our temple back home,” Legolas said, sliding the far-too-large chemise over her head and grinning like a maniac.

“Stop jesting, you daft elf, and help me get into this frock.”

The only chemise that was close to her size was very tight in the chest, and she needed Legolas’ help to shimmy into it.

Then there was the bodice. Gimli was used to the styles she wore back home which had metal clasps to close them. These had ribbon lacing about the front and sides which she couldn’t manage to tie right.

Legolas giggled at her. “Here, let me help before you crack a rib or pass out doing it wrong.”

Gimli pouted but allowed the blonde to do what she would.

A long thin arm reached towards her then stopped. “I am going to have to touch you. I am not trying to instigate anything - it’s the only way I know how, alright?”

“Okay,” she replied, puzzled.

Warm fingers lifted her large breasts with one hand and the lacings were tightened part way with the other. Then the fingers were gone, busy adjusting the fabric and finishing the closing.

“Is that better? Can you breathe a little easier?”

Gimli nodded, taking an experimental deep breath. The pain was no longer there. “Thank you.”

Legolas smiled and turned to finish her own lacing, doing a similar thing to herself.

They grabbed their uniforms and weapons and headed back to the clearing.

“It took you two long enough,” muttered Gandalf, “I would hate to be the soldiers waiting for their laundry should the two of you be working together.”

“Sorry, Sarg,” said Gimli, “I was having some trouble with my lacings.”

The man rolled his eyes. “I expect you were. Now, listen up men, you won’t be bringing any of your weapons with you. Even if you trick the guards into thinking you’re women, a weapon is a dead giveaway that you aren’t a washerwoman.”

“But we are women, Sergeant” corrected Legolas.

“Corporal, how many times do I have to tell you to watch that tongue of yours before you land in real trouble with it?”

“My apologies, Sargeant.”

“Now, are there any more interruptions before I continue?”

Gimli nodded. “How are we supposed to free the prisoners without any weapons?”

“There will be plenty of weapons inside,” came Frodo’s soft voice. “Plus the Sergeant’s plan.”

Gandalf looked frustrated, like someone had stolen his thunder. “He’s right, of course. You will no doubt be able to find some implements to make do with until you receive your weapons back from me. You put out the signal and I will deliver the weapons to you on the roof where you dry the laundry. Then I will lead a distraction on the front gate, so you have a chance to break out some of our men trapped down below.”

“Wait, you’re not going with us, Sarg?” asked Pippin.

The tall man smiled. “No, lad. I can’t see myself all dressed up like a lady. I’m one of the old soldiers, we just can’t do that sort of thing. Besides, I would never hear the end of it. No, I will lead the distraction. Boromir can’t go with you anyhow, so the two of us will take care of each other. Gimli, I am promoting you to Corporal. I want you to head this mission. And don’t say anything, Corporal Legolas, you’re not getting demoted. But in case you have to split your forces, I think it’s best that there is more than one of you of higher rank.”

Reluctantly everyone handed over their weapons. Gimli could tell the others felt as she did, very naked without their weapons and awkward in their new clothes. A dress just didn't feel right on her anymore. But there was no time to worry about such things. Dawn was already breaking and their newest challenge was upon them.  
\-----

They filled in with the group of women heading to the back entrance of the castle. Everything moved slowly as they got into the queue at the door.

“We’re in trouble,” Legolas whispered into her ear.

“Why’s that?” Gimli asked, trying not to make too much movement in case it would catch the eye of any of the guards.

“Everyone’s handing over papers. We don’t have any.”

“Just stay calm. Everyone follow my lead and if things get bad, cry as much as you can,” she replied, the message getting passed one woman at a time to the back.

“Well, I am not going to cry no matter what,” said Pippin firmly.

Gimli stepped up when they’d made it to the front.

“Good to see some new faces. Your papers please, miss,” the guard said with his hand out.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she answered as demurely as possible, eyes not leaving the ground, “I haven’t got any. Our whole town was evacuated when we heard there was an attack coming. My mistress, Dayna, said that I could come and beg for work at the castle. Please sir, I’ve got nothing and nowhere else to go.”

The soldier gave her a look up and down and then relaxed. “Alright then, go ahead and talk with the captain about it.”

As Gimli stepped forward and up to the entranceway, the guard leaned out. “Anyone else here not have their papers?” he called.

The rest of their fellowship raised their hands and stepped forward out of line, Fíling in after Gimli. Once they were all in the entrance, the gates went down, trapping them in the space between the inside and the outside of the castle. Looking about she noticed the archery slats in the wall here and could see movement within.

“You think you gentleman are the first ones to try dressing up like women to sneak into a fort?” laughed a green orc from beyond the gate. “The way you boys sauntered up here and how poorly you’ve tried to get your bodies not to look flat is pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”

“Sir, there must be some mistake! Please! We are women!” pleaded Gimli.

The orc laughed again and Gimli looked up at his scarred face, trying to make an expression that might sway the man. “You boys aren’t fooling anyone. This is the end of the line for you lot. We’ll get you all set up in the dungeons with the others. It was a valiant effort all the same.”

There was a long pause where everyone looked tense, not sure if they should give up their roles or not.

Then Merry stepped forward, head held high. “Excuse me, Mr. Captain, sir. I have something you may want to see before you lock us away.”

“You going to try and bribe me boy?” the orc sneered.

Merry fumbled under her skirts and Gimli heard the sound of many crossbows being cocked at the same time. She was about to reach out when Merry pulled her skirt over her head. With a moment of secondhand embarrassment, she saw that Merry’s britches were at her ankles.

At that moment Pippin let out a long wail and started sobbing. “The mean man called us boys!”

Frodo joined in as if on cue. “He said we looked like poorly disguised boys! With lumpy bodies!”

The captain had a look of panic, suddenly not sure what to do. There was snickering coming from both sides where the archers were hidden and Gimli had no doubt that he would be the laughing stock of the castle before the day was through.

Sam stomped forward to the bars where the captain stood, self righteous indignation all over her face. “Have you gotten enough of a show humiliating us then, or do you need more of us to cry first?”

“Raise the damned gate!” said the flustered orc angrily. “You girls will go and talk with Miss Nelly and learn the ropes. I don’t want to hear any more from you lot though.”

They headed inside and were escorted by a couple of southern mercenaries, a group made up of men who had been conquered or made alliances with Mordor. They lead their small band down a long corridor and into the wide-open room where tendrils of steam stretched out along the ceiling. Once there they met “Nelly”, and everyone was a little relieved to see that Éowyn was still alive and not imprisoned.

“Some new girls for you to train, Miss Nelly,” said the one guard.

“Well thank you, Captain,” giggled Éowyn, his falsetto grinding on the nerves.

“Now Miss Nelly, how many times must I tell you, I’m only a Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. You just have such a bearing of power to you I keep forgetting you haven’t gotten the promotion yet. When you do I’ll just bake you the nicest pie.”

“I’d like that, Miss Nelly,” said the first one leaving.

As soon as he was a little out of earshot the second one turned to Éowyn. “We’re still on for tonight, aren’t we?”

It was the terrible giggle again. “Oh, of course deary. Just the two of us.”

“I can’t wait to find out exactly why they call you naughty Nelly.”

“You are just too much sugar, sir!” said Éowyn, swatting the hand of the excited Lieutenant who then gave her an awkward wink and left to join his companion.

The company all stared on in varying degrees of disbelief.

“Sir?” exclaimed Gimli “What was that!”

Éowyn looked at them for a moment, then lowered his voice, drawing them near. “It’s a ruse, boys. See, that man has the keys to the dungeons. Tonight I am going to meet with him, seduce him with my feminine wiles, and then steal the key.”

“And how are you going to do that? What if he catches on? Surely he will not just give you the key without a struggle,” said Legolas

“Obviously I would snap his neck, corporal,” the man replied.

“So you’ve done this before then?” asked Sam, hopefully.

“Oh, no. But I’ve read plenty of accounts of how it’s to be done. Just a pound of pressure to kill a man and all that, eh Strider?”

Strider nodded with a grimacing smile. “True, sir.”

Legolas gave him a scrutinizing look. “As someone with a little experience, I can tell you it can sometimes be a bit tricky, what with the weapons and the struggling.”

“Yes, yes,” said Éowyn with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ve got the whole thing worked out, I assure you.” The rest of the company looked at each other with apprehension at these words.

“Listen men,” the lieutenant whispered conspiratorially, “I’m not sure why you boys all decided to come in, this is hard work here in the laundry. But I suppose I don’t have to worry about sneaking you all in now. The women here all have men locked up or have lost someone to this war. They are on our side. As soon as we release the prisoners we should have the fort retaken and be heroes.”

“Sir, what about your other part of the plan?” asked Gimli, trying to steer things towards a logical end.

“Other part?”

“Don’t you recall? Before you left us you wanted us to raise the support of those outside the castle and to create a distraction?”

“That’s right,” added Legolas.

“I suppose I had forgotten that, private. Was there anything else to this plan?” Éowyn ventured.

“Oh, sorry sir, it’s corporal now by the sergeant’s authority. And yes, there was. We need to get to the roof and put up the symbol. Weapons will be given to us and the men outside will attack,” she said.

A thin eyebrow raised. “I am pretty sure I didn’t say that last bit, Corporal Gimli.”

“No, not verbally. But you see, it’s a batman’s job to anticipate the details of their Rup—of their officer. It’s so that you can keep yourself focused on the big picture, the stuff we younger, less tactically experienced soldiers can’t do. Taking a cue from your exceptional leadership, the Sarg and us worked out how to implement the plan you wanted us to figure out.”

Éowyn stared at Gimli for a while. “I do the big picture and you all fill in the details, is it?”

She knew if Gandalf were here, he would be proud of how she had managed to steer the lieutenant in the “correct” direction. Maybe she did have it in her to be a sergeant.

“Yes, sir”

“Alright, well, I am glad everything’s in order. We will proceed with the plan as soon as there is an opportunity. Now, get to work, or Miss Hylia will be quite cross.”  
\-----

Éowyn introduced them all to the women in the washing section and they got to work amongst the the symphony of churning water, fingernails scraping along the washboards, and the slap of wet clothing against rock.

Everyone had an easy time blending in, all of them having done this sort of work before. The one exception of course, was Legolas. She had never washed anything in her life and many of the other women took to scolding her or whispering about her, which of course Legolas' superior hearing had no issue picking up.

They tried to send Legolas to the steam room, but being surrounded by hot irons proved too much. She was sent with Strider to the roof for drying duties. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The two women managed to scout the roof and ensure they could raise the signal and Legolas could gather some of the layout of the place.

Strider had come down from the roof to take up more laundry and reported the good news. She double checked that it was time to set out the signal. In just a couple of hours they had gathered enough information to proceed with their mission and so the lieutenant gave them the go ahead.

When the last batch of wet clothes was ready to go up to dry, the four hobbits, Gimli, and Éowyn clambered into the ancient elevator with two guards. The eight of them did not have a lot of room even in the rather spacious elevator because of the length of the baskets of clothes. Even with them stacked all three atop another, the women were touching elbows.

The ride up was long, the elevator being hand pulled by ropes. "Gives the prisoners something to do with their time. They are all too happy to be productive," the one guard explained when Éowyn asked them.

"It takes so long because they have terrible work ethic. That's part of how we captured them all so easily," laughed the other.

Éowyn laughed, leaning a little on the one. Then she noticed Merry and Pippin giving disdaining looks at the two men.

At long last the wooden contraption made it to the top, sunlight streaming in as the doors creaked slowly open.

Gimli caught Legolas' eye and knew there was success. "Miss Nelly, let's get these drying over on the far end there. Less other clothes nearby, they should dry a little faster."

Éowyn turned from where he was still chatting away happily with the guards. "Sorry, dears, I have to go help the poor girl with the laundry. She’s bright, but a little pushy for her age."

Gimli cringed as Éowyn let out that ear splitting giggle, before escaping to help haul the basket towards where Legolas was clearing laundry pins off a line.

The guards got back into the elevator to wait for the women to finish. Once they were done they gathered to the far end, away from view of the two southern men.

"We received a little gift," sung Legolas, pointing to a laundry basket with a bundle in it.

The shapes below were unmistakable, it was the weapons they had left with Gandalf.

"However did they end up here?" asked Sam "And how did they know to bring them here?"

"A little bird must have told them," laughed Legolas.

"An eagle landed on the roof and set them next to us," explained Strider. "I suppose when you have as many connections as the sergeant does, you can get express delivery."

"It is truly incredible," commented Éowyn.

"The note that was left with them said when we were ready to let the red cloth fly," said Legolas, "might I suggest we hide the small ones on us and keep the rest in the basket. If the Lieutenant will allow, I have a plan."  
\-----

They re-entered the elevator; Legolas calling out as the door were about to shut. “Wait for me!”

One of the guards stopped the mechanism, and she slipped in panting, and leaning against a guard. “Thank you for holding the door for me.”

His eyes got a wicked glow to them as he let the door shut and they were illuminated only by the light of a lantern.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Oh, why yes,” Legolas replied innocently enough to the untrained observer. “It was kind of you to wait. Most people haven’t been very nice.”

He placed a hand upon her shoulder and even though Gimli knew it was an act to drop their defenses, jealousy began to stir within her.

“Well, I am a nice man and I am here to help you. I don’t know why anyone would want to be unkind to you, Miss.”

“Well, it’s probably because they know I’m an elf,” she said, so sweetly that at first the men didn’t understand what they had heard. By the time they realized it, she had already smacked the stop bar and had a hand at the other’s throat. The first man reached for his belt, but Gimli hit him in the back of the head with the hilt of her axe. He crumpled against the corner of the small space.

The second man was shaking. “I have a couple questions for your, sir, since you are here to assist me. There’s a door halfway down, where does it go?” demanded Legolas.

“It’s the old entrance to the basement through the crypt, but it’s been locked up for as long as I have been here. There’re terrible rumors about that place. No one will go near it! They say the dead are restless there, waiting for command from the King of Gondor.”

“Oh, how delightful. Let’s all take a trip there, shall we?” Legolas hit the lever again and the elevator continued its descent.

“Please, miss, don’t take me there! I don’t want to be devoured by zombies!”

The elf laughed. “Well, lieutenant, what would you like us to do with him? Take him prisoner or kill him?”

“Or we could just knock him out and leave him tied up with the other guy,” Gimli interjected.

The man nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion. “If I get a say in this, I would like that option.”

“Well, there’s no sense killing a man needlessly, as my uncle likes to say. Knock him out and leave him tied up to the other one,” said Éowyn.

“You’re a man, Nelly? I knew you were too perfect to be true,” the man lamented.

Strider moved forward. “Since head injuries can be serious, might I be allowed to do the honors?”

“By all means, private.”

And in one move the second man was as limp as the first.

They stopped the elevator at the halfway point. There was the door with a couple of wooden boards nailed to it. Some sort of writing that Gimli couldn’t make out was written all along the wooden panels.

“Boarded up and sealed with magic. I don’t know that this is the safest way,” Strider said nervously as she examined the runes.

“Well how else do you propose we get to the basement where our armies are being held?” Legolas snapped.

Gimli didn’t just not like the look of the door, she didn’t like the feel of it. A deep coldness seemed to radiate out of it. And she was concerned about disturbing the undead, particularly if they were ravenous enough to be sealed with magic to prevent their escape.

“Men, we have a duty to perform. It may be dangerous, it may be frightening, but it’s our job to do,” Éowyn said steadily, seemingly unaffected by the door and what might lie beyond.

“Shall I open it then?” asked Frodo, surprising them all.

“Since when do you know how to open magic doors?” the lieutenant wondered aloud.

“Since the Duchess gave me the power.”

Gimli felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms raise up. There was too much certainty in the little voice. Could she be seeing the Duchess again?

Éowyn laughed as though he had heard nothing out of the ordinary. “Well, go ahead then. Give it a try.”

Frodo stepped forward and spoke words in a foreign tongue. Once again it was more than just her voice that they could hear. That older, more measured voice was also pouring from her mouth.

Gimli looked around and from the looks on the faces of her companions,she saw that she wasn’t the only one who had heard it. There was some relief in not having heard things. But the dread of knowing that it wasn’t just a trick may well have been worse.

The runes faded from the door and Merry and Pippin pried off the boards. The door swung inwards revealing nothing except for darkness. Strider reached for the lantern in the elevator, but Frodo’s hand came up to stop her.

“They will be drawn to the light and the movement,” warned the hobbit, stepping forward.

Éowyn followed close behind Frodo, a smile of satisfaction on his face. There was a moment of dread where Gimli realized they all had to go in. They couldn’t abandon the others. Everyone hurried behind, concerned for the safety of the two who had stepped so freely into the unknown dangers.

They filled in one by one in a line with Frodo leading the way. It was pitch black and none of them could see what was happening around them, even Legolas. Moving forwards slowly with a hand on the person in front of them, they could hear the sounds of shuffling movements and ragged breaths coming from all around. Yet they continued ahead in silence, trusting that whatever was guiding Frodo was not dooming them to their deaths.

Then at last they stopped. Frodo and the other voice could be heard chanting ahead. After just a few moments fear took hold of Gimli. What if the sounds drew the creatures to them? She prayed, actually prayed in her mind to any deity who might listen, calling on any whose name she could recall, that they would make it out of this alive. The movements of the creatures seemed to be drawing closer. She was sure it wasn’t a trick of the mind, but she pressed forward as her heart raced in her chest.

The runes on the door faded and the sound of the old doorknob turning could be heard. It squeaked, the mechanisms old and rusted. But it did not open.

“What’s wrong?” whispered Merry from somewhere in front of her.

“Seems like this one is nailed shut too,” Éowyn replied.

“We have to get it open,” came a panicked voice. It was a moment before Gimli realized it was hers. She was at the end of the line.The dark unknown full of monsters at her back was more than a little anxiety producing.

“Let me through,” said Legolas.

There was some shuffling noises, the creak of strained wood, and then a loud crack. Torchlight illuminated the hall on the other side. As the company began to step out into the light, Gimli turned behind and saw to her horror the dozens upon dozens of red-eyed corpses, all turned to the doorway where they all stood.

“Run!” she shouted, pushing them out of the way as the creatures began to rush towards where they stood.

Merry and Pippin screamed, pushing past the others to get away as quickly as possible.

“Legolas, the door! Hurry!”

Once the company had all cleared the door, Legolas slammed the door back into its hinges, just as decomposing hands stretched out towards them.

Thuds echoed in the hall as the sound of several bodies thumped against the door. It shook against the force of even the elf holding it in place.

“We need to seal it,” hissed Strider, throwing her shoulder against the door to help keep it shut.

Frodo walked up and placed her hand upon the wood in the center between Strider and Legolas. A white light spread out around her and into the door, the runes re-appearing. As soon as it was done, Frodo collapsed unconscious to the ground. Strider fell to her knees and managed to catch Frodo before she hit her head on the stone slabs of the hall floor.

“I’ll take care of her,” the ranger said, removing a scarf from her neck and propping up Frodo’s head.

“The important thing here, is that we made it through and we are in one piece,” Gimli said, more to reassure herself than anything else. She was still trembling from walking through the crypt.

“My thoughts precisely, Corporal. Now, let’s split up and find the prison cells,” the lieutenant began, puffing up his chest the way he did before he was to launch into an inspirational speech.

“I hate to interrupt, sir,” Legolas said, “But I don’t think we’ll have much trouble considering the escort they sent us.”

They looked to see a group of guards with crossbows pointed in their direction from around the corner at the far end of the hall. It was the only way forward and there was no way for them to make an offensive strike without winding up full of arrows.

Everyone raised their hands in surrender, knowing they were caught.  
\-----

Their weapons were confiscated and they were locked away, not in the dungeons with the other prisoners, but in an abandoned side kitchen. Anything that might have been useful to defending themselves or aiding their escape had been long since removed. As they searched the small room, they found little other than some stale flour, rusted pots, and a couple candle stubs.

“Any other way out?” asked Éowyn.

“Fraid not, Lieutenant,” answered Gimli.

“We almost made it there, didn’t we?” he asked, giving Gimli a sad smile.

“We did, sir. Sorry we couldn’t help you realize your glory.”

“That’s alright, Corporal. You men gave me a brilliant crack at it. You know, you all were my first command. It has been an honor.”

Gimli bit his lip, the poor man was being genuine. Perhaps they had taken him further towards his dream than he could have imagined back when he was assigned whatever small jobs he was doing at headquarters other than portraying women poorly. At this point keeping their secret from him had no meaning. They were caught now.

“Sir, it has been an honor on our part too. Which brings me to the secret we’ve all been keeping from you, but I suppose it’s time we let you know,” she said, looking at down to her feet.

“Oh lord, Corporal, you’re not enemy spies are you?” the lieutenant almost shrieked.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing as bad as that sir. The thing is, we’re all women.”

“Now, there’s no sense trying to make me feel better. The dresses do have their disadvantages, but being dressed as women doesn’t make us any less of a man,” argued Éowyn.

Gimli sighed. The man was slow in the way particularly brilliant people can sometimes be. He was too focused on facts and history and strategy to see what was in front of him. It seemed a combination of naiveté and a lack of common sense. “No sir, we really are all women. Each of us snuck into the army for our own reasons. I only know about half of them if I’m honest with you, sir.”

Éowyn gave him a look of absolute confusion. “But, you all came looking like men and acting like men and sounding like men. You even have a beard, unless it’s fake!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Female dwarves have beards, sir. And we all seemed like men because we had to be. All of us needed to be here.”

“Well, that explains Frodo’s fainting I suppose.”

“No, sir,” she said, “that would be on account of her being possessed by the Duchess. Or at least, that’s what I think has happened.” Gimli didn't really know how to articulate even the little bit she knew of what had been going on with Frodo. A supernatural explanation was the only one that seemed to make sense to her anymore.

“Oh dear,” Éowyn lamented, putting his face in his hands, “could things get any worse?”

As if on cosmic cue, the doors to the kitchen swung open. A small guard stepped forward, led by a tall white orc. His large head was deformed, his face twisted into a permanent sneer.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, ladies,” started the orc, stepping carefully into the room amongst them. “My master has bid me to give you an offer. And for once it’s neither death nor torture. Now which one of you is the officer?”

“That would be me,” Éowyn said, getting to his feet. “I am Lieutenant Éowyn of the twelfth infantry.” The orc was half a head taller than him, but the lieutenant stared back without fear or hesitation as he spoke. It gave Gimli a burst of pride.

“I see. The guard can go. I think we can handle this lot on our own. And one of you bring the lieutenant a pair of trousers, I can’t take a man serious when he’s dressed like his own mother.”

There was snickering from the group of orcs and human mercenaries as they left.

“I am Major Gothmog. I was sent to…. What is going on with that one there?” the Major asked, gesturing to where Strider was tending to Frodo.

“She had a bit of a faint as we were coming out of the crypt. If we could get some water for her I am sure she’ll come around.”

“Ah right, the crypt. If you all hadn’t decided to try and break your way out of a room full of zombies, you might have had a better chance at success. I suppose that’s what happens when you rely on women in your ranks. It was a good trick at the gate though.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Éowyn, but I would not trade these men, well women, for any other soldiers in our army. I stand by that.”

Gothmog rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, very good. The reason I am here is to offer you all a deal. Some of you are looking for family members. Siblings and husbands and all that?”

“Close enough,” muttered Legolas from her spot leaning languidly against a wall.

“If you give us the names they will all be located. You can all leave the castle this evening with your loved ones, no harm done to any of you. You’ll all even have an escort. As for you, Lieutenant, you’ll be held under house arrest in a home just over the Mordor border. I hear it’s a lovely spot for walks and relaxation, you just have to remain there until the conclusion of the surrender.”

Gimli looked to Legolas and saw that she was carefully observing not the major, but the other officers who had lingered. As she gazed about she saw there was a sort of nervousness about the way they stood. Some of them held too tight a grip on their weapons for this being a relaxed presence.

She grinned. The major was trying to get rid of them. They were afraid of this small unit of women. She wasn’t sure why, but Gimli knew that they could press that to their advantage.

“It is a very kind offer, Major, I will need some time to discuss it with my men,” answered Éowyn.

“What?” exclaimed the pale orc, “you’re not honestly considering rejecting this offer are you?”

“I feel it best to discuss the situation with them first. I think the ladies would like some privacy if you don’t mind.”

“You have thirty minutes,” snarled Gothmog, giving them a crooked scowl before leaving with the others close behind and locking the door behind them.

“Well, soldiers, what say you to the deal? It’s a fair offer for all of you.” said Éowyn, sitting back on the floor.

“Not for us!” exclaimed Pippin angrily and Merry put a hand on her shoulder.

“Nor me, sir,” said Sam

“What about your man?” asked Strider, “don’t you want to raise your baby with him?”

“Baby?” Éowyn gasped, looking like a fish out of water for a moment.

The hobbit ignored the lieutenant. “It is complicated. Besides, I made a vow when I kissed the Duchess and took that coin, I am not turning back now,” Sam said with more defiant confidence than Gimli was used to seeing on the usually demure woman.

“Well then, is there anyone who objects? Frodo can’t speak up, but do you think she…”

“After talking to her about her reasons, I think she’s committed to the end, sir,” answered Gimli.

“Good,” the lieutenant answered with a definitive nod, “then we are all in agreement.”  
\-----

The thirty minutes came and went and Major Gothmog came to inquire about their answer. After some encouragement from Merry and Pippin, Éowyn managed to tell the man where he could stick the offer. They were told they would be kept until someone figured out a suitable punishment for them and the door was slammed behind them.

“Better than I expected that to go,” Legolas said offhandedly.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Frodo is getting very cold and pale,” Strider stated simply, “we need to get her warmed up or I’m worried about if she will make it.”

Éowyn went to the door and gave it a knock. “We have a sick man in here! We need some blankets, a fire, and that water we asked for earlier!”

The door opened and a man peeked his head in. “What’s all the racket in ‘ere?”

“Please, our man isn’t doing well. We need to get her warm and hydrated,” insisted Gimli.

The guard grumbled. “Fine! But then I don’t want to hear anything more from you lot!”

The door closed and a while later opened back up with a handful of guards. A fire was set in the ancient fireplace, a couple of barrels full of water put in the center of the room, and blankets piled on top of Frodo. Then the men filed back out and with a grin Legolas noted that it was not locked.

“I’m not about to wait around here and hope they come up with a plan for us soon,” said Gimli. “We just need to get out of here and retrieve our weapons. We may still have a chance to reach the prisoners. The sergeant must have seen our signal and could very well be leading his assault on the castle.”

Pippin giggled. “Hey Merry, you remember that time at Mr. Maggot’s mill?”

Merry grinned mischievous. “Pippin, that’s so genius I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first.”

“What are you two troublemakers up to?” asked Gimli.

“Leave it up to us and we’ll have us out of here quick as a dragon on gold.”  
\-----

Following Merry and Pippin’s directions carefully they set everything in place. Then most of them got into the pantry, as well as they could considering its small size.

The water barrels were moved in front of the pantry door and the old flour sacks strung up above them with rope that they found in one of the old pots.

“So, how exactly is this going to work?” asked Éowyn, eyeing the precariously hanging flour sacks.

“Pippin is gonna light the candle and then when she gets back here far enough I’ll pull the bag. The flour is going to catch fire and explode,” explained Merry.

“And you’re sure this is safe?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Pippin said, “but it’s our only chance. The water barrels should be enough to keep us from getting hit with the blast, although we might get a little wet.”

“The distraction should prove useful too,” Legolas mentioned, pulling her hair back from where she had left it to cover her ears before.

The rest of the group crotched down as much into the pantry as possible as Pippin carried a couple of candle stubs from where she’d lit them in the fireplace, melting the wax at the base to secure them to the flagstone.

With unnatural glee, she came running back towards them and Merry pulled the rope, sending a storm of flour snowing from the ceiling.

The white powder hit the flame and combusted with a bang. They shielded themselves from the force of the explosion. A wave of water washed over all of them and they wiped water from their eyes, looking out at the entrance.

Flour dust hung heavy around the doorframe like a smoke screen, but the door was no longer standing. They heard soft groans from outside and knew the guards were incapacitated. It was now or never.

Everyone turned to Gimli. “Lieutenant?”

Éowyn nodded and they dashed out into the hall.

“To the left, that’s where they have our weapons,” said Legolas, kicking a guard that tried to get up in the face.

They followed Legolas’ lead to the door and burst in. The room was empty and they hurried to retrieve their weapons, strapping them onto their belts as quickly as they could.

“Well, men, this is it. I think the time has come to get our men back,” the lieutenant said, the fire of glory rekindled in his eyes.

There was a light emanating from Frodo’s prone form. “Aragorn, it is time for you to accept your fate,” came a voice not belonging to any of them. But Gimli recognized it, it was the one that spoke with Frodo.

“No, I am Strider, nothing more,” argued the ranger, setting Frodo down.

“You are the only one who can do this task. Take the sword of your lineage and command the restless dead to your side. Too long have they tarried in this world without purpose. Have them fulfill their obligation and move on to the great beyond.” Frodo’s eyes fluttered open and she looked about as though she had just woken up from a strange dream.

Strider was about to protest when Legolas laid a hand upon her shoulder. “I will travel with you, Aragorn. I have faith in you. I have seen what you did when you accepted who you are.” The pale blue eyes flickered over in Gimli’s direction. She knew the elf spoke of the ritual that kept her from death.

She stepped forward. “I will go with you too. I owe you my life, after all.”

“We can spare no more men on this,” said Éowyn, “the rest of you will come with me.”

“But what of the barrier?” asked Gimli.

Frodo nodded and pressed a kiss to Aragorn’s palm. “This will allow you entry.”

The lieutenant gave them a nod. “We shall meet again before this is out. Best of luck, you three. We shall see you when this fort is ours again.”  
\------

Aragorn stepped up to the door and placed her hand upon the wood, unsure of what if anything she needed to do to use the power. At the touch, however, the runes faded and the door fell over off its hinges, hitting the floor with a smack.

The rasping breaths and scuffling of limbs were immediately audible.

Gimli and Legolas stood firmly on either side of the ranger.

Drawing her sword and holding it aloft Aragorn stepped forward into the darkness. Legolas followed straight after, no traces of fear on her pale face. Gimli, however, hesitated at the door.

The panic of being surrounded in pure darkness by enemies was daunting at best, terrifying at worst. And yet, she could not leave her companions to go alone. With a deep breath she forced her feet forward, running after Legolas and Aragorn.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to be surrounded by a crowd of the undead. None approached too close while Aragorn held her sword high. There was certainly power in the blade.

But Gimli still couldn’t help but back up a few steps out of instinct. Her back was pressed against Legolas’, her other shoulder against Aragorn. Whatever it was going to take to get these men’s alliance, Gimli hoped it happened sooner rather than later. And if they couldn’t get it, she hoped they might turn tail and run away, the faster the better.

With sword raised the ranger began to speak. “Great warriors of Dwimorberg, hear me. Listen to what I have to say. Long have you stayed on in this world, suffering for your betrayal. I come today to offer you a way to move on to the next world and do it with honor. Fight for me. Help us to retake this fort and eliminate the threat of Mordor upon our lands!”

One of the corpses came forward, a rusted metal crown upon its head. “And who are you who tries to command me, a King?” the skeleton snapped.

There was a silence. No one moved. Gimli began to worry that Aragorn did not have the conviction to force their loyalty. Then at last she spoke up, her voice demanding and noble, head lifted high.

“I am Aragorn, daughter of Arathorn, and heir to the throne of Gondor. It is to my lineage to which you owe your allegiance. I have felt the suffering of curses and yet I still stay loyal. Now bend to my demands or we shall seal this door again and you will be left here to remain in this world, forever unable to find release.”

The Skeleton King looked the ranger in her washerwoman attire up and down.

“You think a mere bastard of the line of Isildur can end our curse?” It sneered.

Aragorn stepped forward, grabbing the zombie by scraps of its clothing. “I am no bastard. I am the queen and you will obey me!”

The two glowing green fires that acted as his eyes met with the blade of the sword and he inclined his head. “Very well. We shall fight for you if you promise to release us when we have finished.”

“On my word as the queen, you have a deal, your majesty,” said Aragorn.  
\-----

Gimli did not entirely trust the zombie army. After all, they had betrayed Aragorn’s ancestors, why not her as well? When she said as much to Legolas, the elf smiled at her.

“After centuries of being trapped beyond death, I think they are happy to gain their freedom.”

They made it halfway down the hall towards one of the prisoner wings when twenty or so Umbar mercenaries rounded the corridor.

“Throw down your weapons and we may spare you,” Aragorn called to the hired guards.

The men all laughed. “What do you think the three of you can do against all of us?”

Aragorn leaned over. “Can you show them not to mess with us, my elven friend?” Legolas smiled wickedly.

Her eyes switched to gold and she stepped forward, her arm straight out towards the first man. Black smoke rose from her feet. “Spirits of our lands, you who know know peace in death, we delivery unto you the source of your anguish.”

Beside him Gimli noticed Aragorn signalling the zombies.

“We hear you. And obey,” the King of the dead said, stepping forward through the smoke.

Half of the mercenaries turned and tried to run, while the others stayed, urging their companions to fight.

When the undead met the living, it was a massacre. Nothing the hired men did could stop the monsters from coming and quickly they were all laid to waste.

“Shall we continue to clear the keep of these intruders?” asked the King.

Aragorn nodded. “Yes, your majesty. We shall leave you to that work and we will finish releasing our men. Find me when you are done and receive your reward.”

The zombies continued down the hallway passed the prison cells and occasionally screams could be heard, getting more and more distant. From outside you could hear the sounds of a battle that had been joined. Gandalf had come on his word and Gimli felt for the first time like they really had a solid chance of winning. Hell, they might even all make it out of here alive and find all those they sought.

Legolas searched through the bodies, then beamed proudly as she held up a ring of keys. “What do you say we let a couple of these boys out to get a chance to play too?”  
\-----

When they had released all the men in the nearby cells, they went headed to the west side to meet back up with the rest of the unit. They found Éowyn and Merry by following the sounds of Nelly’s obnoxious laugh. An act it turned out that the lieutenant was using so that Merry could sneak up behind the guards and knock the men out.

Gimli handed the large jingling ring of keys to the lieutenant. “We have one of the guard’s keys, sir. Thought you might like the honors.”

Éowyn smiled proudly. “Thank you, corporal. Thank all of you men. Er, women that is.”

“While we’re still under your command I think either is appropriate,” Aragorn said.

“Thank you.” With that Éowyn went rushing down to the cell blocks, keys raised high.

"Lieutenant Éowyn, twelfth infantry here to release you!" The officer shouted as he unlocked each of the large cells.

Men of all races began streaming into the hallway, Aragorn shouting directions to where weapons were kept. Over the din of voices Gimli couldn't make out much of what was going on, units trying to reform and move back towards the gate. Passions for battle rekindled, their forces streamed past.

She kept her eye out for any sign of Fíli or Kíli, but if they were there she didn't see them. Gimli felt someone take her hand and leaned against Legolas' taller frame.

"Uncle!" cried the lieutenant up ahead.

A very worn looking man sat in the cell, being helped up by a man looking very similar to Éowyn himself.

"Brother?" exclaimed the taller young man, helping the old man to his feet.

"Éomer! How happy I am to find you both alive!"

Éomer looked puzzled. "How are you here? Are you secretary to the man leading this charge?"

"I AM the man leading the charge," he said proudly.

"It is true, captain," said Gimli, coming forward. "The lieutenant is a brilliant tactician and a great leader. He came up with the whole idea."

"I know your face," said the older man, smiling, "Éowyn! How I have missed you!"

The two embraced. "Sir, we will leave you to catch up," said Gimli.

"Thank you, lads. If you can assemble the rest of our unit and meet me on the upper floor."

"Yes, sir."  
\-----

They found Sam and Frodo at the front gate. "Our task is nearly complete," Frodo said, stepping towards them, "There is one last trial ahead before I can complete my mission. Although the queen will have another challenge beyond."

They nodded politely at Frodo, not wanting to dwell on the creepy prophecy.

"Tell me, have you all found my Rose?" asked Sam.

"Your what?" Legolas asked, looking down at her.

"My Johnny Cotton. He told me his nickname was The Rose. That's what all his mates called him, anyways. When he left for war it was in such a rush he didn't even have a chance to give me the present he borrowed money to buy for me."

"He took your money to buy you a gift and then disappeared?" she asked the hobbit, starting to understand the sad truth of things.

"Yes."

"And he said his name was Johnny Cotton? Just like the song of the rambling Rose?"

A dark look passed over Sam's face. It was a dawning realization that things may not have been what they seemed. "You mean you think he made it up? To take my money?"

"The possibility did cross my mind," she admitted, leaving room for other interpretations when she realized how heartbreaking this reality might be. After all, there was a slim chance he just was named the same as a character in a song. Maybe his nickname was for the song he resembled. She had seen more implausible things happen before her eyes.

"Then...." Sam trailed off and was very quiet.

"Where's Pip?" cried Merry, looking about frantically as it dawned on them all that they were still one member short.

"Last we saw her, she was heading towards where Boromir and the sergeant were." Frodo pointed to a spot where there was a small skirmish happening. It was impossible to miss Boromir looming above the group of archers who were firing volley after volley of arrows at her, to no avail. Their points could not pierce solid rock.

"There!" said Legolas, pointing herself, "Up on Boromir's back, it is Pippin. Looks like she is throwing rocks at them. Not a bad shot, either."

"Pip always was a good conkers player," remarked Merry proudly, "I taught her everything she knows."

The tall figure of the elf slipped behind her and she felt Legolas without needing to turn and look. "We can't let them have all the fun, my dear dwarf."

"Time to settle our bet, elf," she agreed, a broad grin on her face as she pulled the battle axe from her back, “most enemy killed wins.”  
\-----

It took mere hours to win the field. Gimli sat down upon the steps of the keep, wiping blood from her battle axe. She looked at her reflection on the shiny surface of the blade and smiled. When she started this quest she was not the figure of a great tale that deserved such a blade, but at least she had proven her might and now felt worthy of carrying it.

She grinned at her own blood-smeared face and felt profound satisfaction. She had made a plan, stuck to it, and come out victorious. Somewhere around here her cousins were freed. Gimli couldn’t wait to show off her axe and see the look on their faces when they realized that she was the one who had lived up to their mother’s legend. She was the one who had won the battle. She, a woman, had saved them. It was what she had always done. Maybe now her father would stop treating her like a gold dust about to be blown away in the wind.

“Final count,” smirked Legolas stopping to prop the one end of her bow under her foot and unstring it with an air of victory, “forty two.”

“Not bad for a pointy-eared elven princess. I myself am sitting victorious with forty three.”

Legolas’ head snapped around so fast Gimli swore she could have heard it. “Forty three?! Surely you exaggerate to wound my pride.”

She shook her head. “On my honor I was not. I even rounded down. I think it’s only fair to count the conjoined twins as one.”

The elf stalked haughtily over to where she sat. “Then I must concede victory. You have bested me once more. You have won your bet.”

“And I promise not to gloat too much about it. Cheer up, lassie, you did well.” Gimli pulled the blonde down by her hand and kissed her cheek.

A warm breeze blew her red hair into her eyes. She pushed it out of the way. “We best be getting back to the lieutenant. Who knows what he’ll get himself into on his own.”

Legolas smiled at her. “I am sure he will be elated at how much glory and honor we’ve provided him and the unit.”

They laughed and joined the others.  
\-----

Up on the main floor they met up with Éowyn and a man with an insignia that she didn’t recognize.

“Ah, it’s good to see all of you together. Sergeant, thank you for your assistance. I would like to introduce you all to Major General Denethor. He is the one in charge of this castle. Sir, these are my men.”

The man gave a grim look as he scanned the faces, then a smile spread across his lips. “Your officer was telling me about you boys. You are all a lot younger than I had pictured you to be. I am sure once we get you all back into your uniforms you’ll feel better. That was some good work, men. Thanks to each of your sacrifices we were able to push back the enemy and now can get back to what we do best, killing those who oppose us.”

Gimli was unnerved. They had won a battle, a step in bringing back peace to their lands, but all the major was interested in was death. She was hardly the only one who felt that way.

“Are we not going to try to negotiate for peace?” asked Pippin

Denethor’s salt and pepper eyebrow raised, his look suspicious. “There is no more peace so long as Prince Sauron occupies the lands on our borders. He will stop at nothing to destroy us all. Slaying him and all his countrymen is the only way.”

“Now I’m not one to argue with authority,” began Gandalf, “but surely defeating him alone would be sufficient.”

“Are you still in the army, Sergeant? I thought you were honorably discharged 20 years ago after meddling in others’ affairs once too often,” the major general ground out between gnashed teeth.

“Miracles happen all the time, sir,” replied the sergeant with a grin.

“It hardly matters. We are going to press our advantage. We march on the black gate at sunrise.”

“No, we will not,” said Aragorn, firmly, but calmly.

“What was that?” asked the Major.

“He’s just got a touch of battle fatigue, sir,” Éowyn said, trying to soften the comment, “please ignore him.”

“No,” repeated Aragorn, “we will not be marching on the gate.”

“And who are you, a mere private, to tell a major what he can or can’t do with his orders?”

“That is Aragorn, child of Arathorn, the heir to the throne of Gondor,” Legolas said, her head held high.

“Where could a boy like you have heard that name? I appreciate that you mean well, but you are a soldier and have no authority over me,” Denethor waved a hand dismissively, “if you don’t want to be court-martialed, I suggest you stay silent and follow orders.”

“Just to play devil’s advocate here, Major General, but if this man really is the King, aren’t you sworn to obey him?” Gandalf mused aloud.

“The line of Isildur is dead! They were all killed,” yelled Denethor, “I can court-martial you too, Gandalf. You’ve given me enough reasons over the years. Now, private, you will step down. Do you hear me, boy?”

“I’m not a boy. I am a woman and your queen.”

“A woman?!” The major spun around to Éowyn. “Did you know about this, lieutenant?”

“Not until just after we had infiltrated the castle and been captured by the enemy, sir,” stuttered Éowyn.

“And yet you went forward with a woman in your midst! Did any of the rest of you boys know about this?” he demanded.

“Yes,” said Gimli, “And in fact, we are all women except for the sergeant and the lieutenant.”

There was silence as the major stood staring back at them, uncomprehendingly. You could see his mind trying to process information that did not match what his eyes were telling him to be true.

Then it finally clicked into place and the major’s whole body swole with indignant rage, his face reddening. “I cannot believe what I am hearing. Lieutenant, you should be damn glad you’ve done a great service to this country or you’d be stripped of your rank and sent packing right here.” Denethor then rounded on Gandalf. “I bet you have something to do with this. You brought all these women here and tried to convince this impressionable ranger that she was a princess!”

“He did no such thing,” said Aragorn. “I have been hiding my identity for 88 years and I am done hiding. I never asked to be queen, but I cannot deny that which I am. I have fought hard to get here and I will not let others suffer needlessly while I can help it.”

“All she says is true,” said Boromir stepping forward and staring down at the man, “I have seen her use elven magic. She has commanded the loyalty the dead. The very men who were bound in death by Isildur’s own curse took up their rusted swords and marched with her. You took an oath. Is it not the words of your house that you are to serve the royal line until death take you?”

There was a long moment of silence as the two stared at one another. The major general was trembling and Gimli wondered if he was afraid of the golem.

“You… what is your name, Golem?”

“Boromir, sir.”

“No, your name before you were turned,” demanded the Major General, his hands balled into tight fists.

Boromir remained silent.

“Tell me!”

“Do not make me, sir.”

“I have to know.” Gimli noticed the major’s eyes were welling up. Could this man have known Boromir back when she was still human?

Boromir hung her head. “It is me, father.”

Trembling hands came forward and laid upon the stone surface. “No. My beautiful daughter, I never wished such a fate for you.”

“And yet you wished it on my sister, Braesea!”

“Silence! My daughter would never say such a thing. This is trickery. Some sort of witchcraft! You are all hereby under arrest for violating the laws of the army!”  
\-----

They were held in an old guard room. There was a mattress brought in because they didn’t believe women could stand to sit on the bare floors, something about delicate constitutions and nagging. The lieutenant had been taken off elsewhere and the sergeant had been sent back out to the battle.

“All things considered, I think I preferred being held by the enemy,” Legolas said, staring uninterested at her nails.

“I agree,” nodded Pippin, “at least then we could break out and give them a little hell. It’s no fun trying to hurt your own.”

“Even if we did break out, we have nowhere to go if we did. We could hardly stay in any of the alliance Kingdoms, and I’m pretty sure we aren’t welcome in Mordor,” Merry bemoaned.

Gimli glanced over to where Boromir was crouched on the floor, her knees up at her stone chest. It must have been hard to have your father tell you to your face that you weren’t his daughter anymore. He had seemed so happy to see her again. What could have caused him to flip so quickly?

She went and sat so she was leaning against a thick stone leg. Boromir gave her a small incline of the head and Gimli returned the gesture.

“Well, what’s the worst they’d do to us anyhow?” asked Sam, a hand resting on her swollen belly.

“The gallows, Sam,” said Merry, gloomily.

“It won’t come to that,” said Frodo, rising to her feet, looking off towards the ceiling, “we follow another path.”

“Knock it out, Frodo!” yelled Pippin. “You’re making everything worse!”

Frodo turned to her and smiled that same smile that didn’t belong to her, but to the Duchess.

“Stop it! You’re freaking me out!” Pippin screamed, pulling at her own dark curls.

“That’s enough,” said Aragorn diplomatically, “we all deal with stress in different ways. Speculation is not going to get any of us out of this room. They will come for us soon enough.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on the lot of them.

After another couple of hours, though it felt as though it could it have been days, of waiting there was a knock on their door. A man, about the size of a hobbit, entered in a bright blue jacket. With the cloak around his shoulders, Gimli couldn’t make out his rank insignia, but he held himself like someone important.

“Good evening, ladies. I am Major Bombadil. I have been charged with your defense in today’s trial,” he said fiddled with the end of his brown beard, then pulled out a notebook and quill, “Now if you could tell me all the events that have happened since you joined the army, we are going to try and get your ladies some justice.”  
\-----

Major Bombadil was very careful to go over all of the details with them in turn, making sure he did not leave out anything that could be useful to their defense. The only details they did not divulge were about Legolas’ loss of self control, claiming instead that they had found some liquor in the goblin camp and gave it to the corporal after she started to lose control of herself.

Gimli could see the ashamed look on the normally proud elven face as their defender probed for further details concerning the incident. She kept trying to move passed that part of their story, but the man seemed fascinated by the process. It was only when Aragorn insisted that they had given every detail and that she would be happy to make illustrations for him or the court later that the man moved on.

They found out that they were not going to be taken to a military tribunal because, as the Major put it, “that would be acknowledging that you all are, or at least were, soldiers.” But he was adamant that he would show that in light of their joining under proper procedure and their outstanding military service, that they should be tried as such. If nothing more, it would give them a better chance at lighter sentencing. Gimli thought they should be tried as soldiers because that’s what they were. They had managed to do something that the rest of the army had not, and she had no doubt that if they had continued their charade of being men that they would have received promotions and decorations for each of their roles.

Major Bombadil left them for less than forty minutes before a guard came to escort them to the large war room. They were brought in unbound, a move that angered Gimli. It wasn’t that she wanted to be in shackles, she certainly didn’t. It was knowing that the reason they were not bound was that women were not considered dangerous enough to restrain that fanned her temper. Now they were seen as a small band of misguided women and everything they had done while in disguise was overlooked as a fluke, some sort of luck they had managed. Their hard work and the skills they had garnered completely dismissed.

The room where their trial was set was a wide rectangular room with large open windows. The white marble floors and thick columns gave the place a feel of long lasting security and strength. At the far end of the room was a long table, behind which sat a panel of various military officials. Off to either side of the room were rows of benches where more military officers were present. They were lead to the open space in the center and Gimli felt eyes on him from every direction, judging them before the trial had even begun.

“We are here today to preside over the case of these eight women, who defied the laws of the realms they came from to gain access to our military organization. We are gathered to determine the appropriate punishment for violating both local and military laws and to decide if their superior officers willingly neglected to report their infiltration or were just too incompetent to notice,” started a tall man in a general’s uniform. His long white hair and beard made his thin face look even longer than it was.

“General Saruman, this is outrageous,” began Bombadil, pacing dramatically in front of the panel of high-ranking military officials, “these women should be tried as soldiers. They all joined under the prescribed regulations, they followed protocol in the war effort, and it was due to their courage that we are all standing here free now. I move that we dissolve this façade of their being mere women and try them by military law. It was the military whose service they entered and if they violated any laws worth being punished for, it should be through the military that they should receive their justice.”

The general sighed like a man who knew no end to the suffering of petty grievances, and waved his hand. “I assume you are going to present to us some evidence that proves that their military service is what they should be judged upon?”

“I will indeed.”

“Step forward please, Major,” said Saruman.

There was a small huddle of military officials and over the buzz of discussion you could occasionally hear a cry of protest. The arguments went on for almost an hour. Eventually they parted and the general stood. “We have heard the cursory evidence and will agree to try the women and their superiors by military law. In the interest of time while our enemy is close at hand, we will not be adjourning, but shall move into the military court procedures starting now.”

Gimli was nervous. There surely wasn’t a precedent for this situation. The only time she’d ever heard of a woman joining the army it was a single woman. That woman of course was her cousin, Dis, who died before they could even consider trying her for a crime. If there were any other cases they certainly had never been brought to light. It would likely be the same for them here. No one wanted to acknowledge that a woman could do these things, so they mitigated the deeds and didn’t bother reporting them because they were then considered too small a thing to bother with. The enemy had wanted to get rid of them and now their own countrymen were trying to do the same. The only difference was that they had to live with these people.

“Since we have heard the gist of you ladies’ story from Major Bombadil, there is little more that can be offered. Rest assured that this trial should be over quickly. Procedure demands that I introduce to you your panel of judges. To my right are Major General Denethor, Brigadier Haldir, and Lieutenant Colonel Rúmil. To my left are Lieutenant General Bard, Colonel Stonehelm, and Major Orophin. The other men in the back are here as witnesses and I am not obligated to share their names or ranks with you at this time.”

Gimli recognized all of their judges’ names. These were not simple military men. Two of them were heirs to a throne, three were once in the personal guard for the Duchess, and one was in charge of the alliance army. Then there was Boromir’s father, who was in charge of this fort and stood in place of the king. To such men, they were nothing more than a distraction from the greater work.

“Is there anyone present who has any evidence to bring to bear against any of the accused?” asked Saruman, looking about the room.

“Permission to speak, sir,” said Gimli.

“It’s not time for that just yet,” Major Bombadil whispered in her direction, “you have to wait for our turn.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t we know what we’re being accused of before we start being tried for it?” she argued, making sure she was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, despite addressing their defender.

“I believe the Captain had something, didn’t he?” the general said, ignoring her question.

The moment the man stepped forward, rage and disgust filled Gimli. Of all the vile slippery creatures to slither their way before her, this was the one she despised the most.

“Captain Sméagol of the intelligence division, sir.” He paused as the squad voiced their muttered opinions on his appearance at this moment. “We have discovered twelve different military laws and six local laws violated by each of these womens. We suspects that there were many many more, but these are all we saw with our own eyes.”

“Oh, Captain, may I congratulate you on your unprecedentedly fast promotion,” said Éowyn with a wide smile that promised revenge.

“That’s right. Were you not just a corporal a couple of months ago?” asked Bombadil.

“We were under cover. We pretends to be a corporal to gather informations, precious. This is not so unusual for us in intelligence. And we didn't break any rules, we didn’t,” the grey-skinned man declared with prideful satisfaction.

General Saruman rolled his eyes and Gimli decided she disliked him a little less for it. No doubt he had seen just what sort of man Sméagol was and knew enough of them in his time not to entirely trust his words.

“We will be sticking only with the charges that affect the military. Local laws with have to be taken up with the proper authority at another time. Getting back to the matter at hand,” Saruman said, “you inform us that this group of women dressed up as men to enter the military. Major, have you anything to say to these charges?”

“With all due respect, sir,” began Bombadil, “The only evidence that we have to support such a claim is the testimony of the Captain. Upon my own investigations I have found a body of evidence that supports that he has motive to falsify his observations. Other than his assertions we have no proof that these women have dressed as anything other than women this whole time.” He gestured widely at the group of them, all still clothed in the stolen dresses.

“But we saws them! We saws them with our own eyeses!” cried Sméagol. ”They was dressed like mens and walksed like mens, and talksed like mens.”

“Answer me this, Captain. Why were you in the recruiting party to begin with?” mused Bombadil, stroking his beard and looking quite thoughtful.

“Is this question relevant to your clients’ defense, major?” asked the General.

“It very well could be. Depending on the answer, I am willing to have the question struck from the proceedings.”

“Alright then, Captain, go ahead and answer the Major’s question.”

“We was sent to investigates someone.” Sméagol hesitated for a moment. “We founds some errors in their file. We wanted to checks if they was up to somethings.”

“Is the party of whom you speak present?” asked Major Orophin for the end of the table.

“No, sirs. Theys are a sergeant. A prestigious sergeant.”

General Saruman cleared his throat. “That is not a matter for current discussion, Captain.”

“So if you were suspicious of the Sarg, why did you pilfer our bags and steal from us?” Gimli cried before realizing the words were out of her mouth.

“Is this true, Captain? Did you search their bags without consent?” asked Lieutenant General Bard.

“That violates two military laws already, Captain,” warned Bombadil.

“We had suspicions! And then we found some items. Things that mens don’t carry.”

“Men have mutinied over that sort of thing,” grumbled Colonel Stonehelm, his bushy crimson eyebrows knitted together like two fuzzy caterpillars ready to fight for control of his nose.

“He destroyed my wine. He knew about my vow, but he purposefully destroyed my stay so I would be without.” Legolas annunciated each word so that it felt sharp. The elves present gave a look of horror.

“At best, Captain, that is reckless endangerment of the men under your charge,” Lieutenant Colonel Rúmil said gravely, shaking his head.

Gimli was pleased to see the room turning against the little snake. The air was abuzz with murmurs both on the panel and from those watching. The energy in the room was shifting.

“May I speak?” asked the Brigadier.

“Yes, of course, Haldir, go on,” said the General.

“I think I speak for everyone on this panel when I say that we are all very thankful for the contributions that each of you ladies, and you lieutenant, have made. Were this a different time or place things would be different. But of course, we have rules in place that must be followed to maintain the general order of the people. I don’t think there’s any of us here that begrudges your being women. The problem is that you are continuing to claim that you are, you see.”

“But we are women, sir,” said Aragorn firmly.

“May I help?” asked Major Orophen.

“Go ahead, Major.”

“You see, ladies, we cannot have women in the service, it is against the rules. And if we make an exception for you, then the whole meaning of the law starts to crumble. Now, you can maintain that you are women, your superior officer was a man, we can just say that you were a patriotic group of women who helped a brave soldier sneak in and helped break out the men. I think we can all live with a story like that, can’t we?”

“Just a moment, if you please, Major,” Bombadil turned to them. “These are both generous offers, would any of you like to take them?”

“It’s not true though!” cried Sam, “we are women, but we are also soldiers!”

“I agree,” said Boromir, “I have nowhere to return to with either option. I say we stay the course.”

“It’s downright dishonorable to lie and take the easy route out. If we are all in agreement?” ventured Éowyn.

No one disagreed.

Major Bombadil turned back to the panel of judges. “I’m afraid gentleman that the answer is no on all accounts.”

“In that case, please return them to their cells while we deliberated on the appropriate action.”

“I’m not going back in that cell!” cried Pippin

“Then that is mutiny and we know how to deal with that,” said Saruman.

“General, am I to understand then that they are in fact being considered soldiers on active duty now?” asked Major Bombadil.

“Watch out!” came a woman’s voice.

There was a thunderous boom as the door exploded inwards, showering them all with fragments of stone dust and wood splinters. Between them and the blast stood Frodo, engulfed in a bright light that had shielded them all from the door. As the smoke cleared, the hobbit sunk to her knees.

“I have wonderful news, General,” said Sergeant Gandalf, barreling into the room where the door once stood, “we’ve got the black gate surrounded and they’ve offered us conditions. Turns out that without their highest general and losing the fort, the Southerlings have abandoned Sauron.”

There were cheers from around the room, but not from Saruman.

“Gandalf! What is the meaning of this? This news could have waited until we finished with this trial,” the General said, his voice laden with thinly veiled threats.

“Oh is this where my lads have ended up? I was wondering why there weren’t more bodies on the field suddenly,” replied Gandalf cheerfully.

“I should have known you would be involved in this,” sighed the General, “you are always getting yourself into trouble, aren’t you?”

“How many miles was it that I carried you, sir? I never can remember if it was eighteen or twenty after you were stabbed in the shoulder.”

The general looked a little pale.

“Fond memories. I got the orc who did it pretty good for you too. Even had to kill the private who had given us up to the patrol, just so I could steal his food and water for you, sir. He had been a good kid up until then, but it was a long way to have to carry you through with all those scouts and we had no other supplies. I watched the life drain out of him so that I could stand here today and see you become the celebrated General you are.”

“If you are trying to imply that—“ Saruman began but was cut off.

“You’re not the only one. I look around here and I see the faces of many men who I have helped. And I would do it all again, too. I kissed the Duchess and made my pledge and here I stand, ready to do what I can for this army as I always have.”

“Yes, yes, the great hero, Gandalf the Grey,” said Denethor tiredly, “But I fear you are too prone to dramatics and--”

“How many more miles then do I need to go, sir?”

Saruman held up his hands. “Clearly you came here with something on your mind, Sergeant. Give us your request.”

“Well, it comes to my attention that you have my men here and that they are in a bit of a bind.”

“These women, you mean, Sergeant,” corrected the general, “and they are not going to be harmed. We are sending them back to the cells to determine an appropriate punishment for their transgressions.”

“When they kissed the Duchess and signed their names I told them, ‘You are my little lads and anyone trying to take you away is going to have to deal with me’.”

General Bard sighed, “Yes, the type of loyalty we expect from you, Sergeant.”

“I also have some information pertaining to these proceedings, although some of it is a bit,” Gandalf paused for dramatic effect, “it’s a bit sensitive to certain parties present.”

“I do wish you would get to your point.” Saruman was massaging a temple as if he had a headache.

“It’s sensitive to certain members of your panel. It requires some of the gentleman present here to leave.”

“These are loyal officers, Sergeant,” said Haldir.

“I don’t doubt it, sir. But I intend to make this my last stand and I will say my piece the way I need to say it. I am sorry that this is unusual, but it is my request.” The sergeant punctuated this with a salute.

“Very well. The gods know you’ve done enough for this damn army to earn your say in a small matter. Which gentleman would you like to have leave?” the general asked.

Gandalf had asked that almost all of the officials present leave the room, including the guard.

“This is an outrage! General, we are being treated like we are the criminals here!” protested Denethor as he stomped out.

“I am sorry, Major General. If it turns out that the sergeant doesn’t have a legitimate reason for his action, I shall leave it up to you what disciplinary actions are taken.”

The Major General grinned sadistically and left without further word. In the end there were only about 12 men left in the room, about a third of those originally present.

“Now that we are alone, would you mind enlightening us on this sensitive information you have, Sergeant?”

“Of course, General. Now, outside there’s a lot of action I am sure you are all itching to join in. But you are here instead. The truth is important. And for that reason I think it’s time we share a few secrets that might shed some light on the proceedings. Now, where should I begin?”

Lieutenant General Bard slammed his hand on the table. “Maybe with what this is all about!”

“Ah, do you want to share some of your own secrets, Lieutenant General Bard? Shall I talk about a captain I knew who got too frightening in the heat of battle and ran off in tears at the sight of his men so badly mutilated that I had to pick him up by his collar and beat sense into him until he gained the courage to go back and win a decisive battle. Or shall I continue onto the many things that slipped freely from this captain’s mouth at the end of the feast celebrations over too many glasses of port?”

“You wouldn’t!” cried the man, getting to his feet and leaning forward so that this black hair partially obscured his face.

“Didn’t you tell me then that the truth was freeing, Beryl?”

There were gasps from those remaining. Gimli’s eyes widened. A Lieutenant general and heir to the throne of Dale was a woman!

“Oh don’t look so shocked, Brigadier. When was it that I served under you, back when you were just Lieutenant Haldir, I believe. You managed to take an arrow just above your manhood. But as it turned out when old sergeant Gandalf got a look at it, it was your womanhood that was wounded. I am sure I treated you far better than any surgeon would have and kept your secret all this time, Donthell.”

The rest of the officers in the room went rigid and pale. Gimli grinned. They were all women. Every one of these high-ranking officers, even the head of their army, was a woman. Each one had been ready to treat them as men would, without a second thought to helping out a younger version of themselves. How many women may have been in the army at one point and suffered the same treatment by other women unknowingly?

The sergeant walked around like a fox in the hen house. Every officer there feared that they were next to be exposed.

“I have kept the secret of each and every one of you here. I know more of the details on certain officers that others. But enough about all of you that it would be best if I did not let the other gentlemen who had been hear listen.”

Gandalf stopped behind Saruman. “Twenty-one miles I carried you in your delirium, sir. You told me everything. I almost know more about your life than you do, Curunír.”

“So what is it that you want, Gandalf?” demanded the general, her face red.

“None of you poor saps knew about the others. You held so tightly onto your secrets that you couldn’t even believe that there were others out there like you. Almost a third of this army is commanded by women. Do you know what you could have done if you hadn’t been working against each other? If you’d banded together?”

“Now that is unfair,” said Saruman.

“Oh, did you spot other women? Did you help them?” inquired the sergeant.

“I only came across one or two. But there was no way to help them without putting my career in jeopardy.”

“And did you promote them the same as you would your male officers?”

Saruman laughed in disbelief. “Hardly! You have to be better than a man to be in this army!”

The sergeant gestured widely to the group of them. “So what would you say about my lads, then? What about the deeds they did for this army? Wouldn’t you call that beyond what a normal man could do?”

There was a deep sigh. “I concede that you have a point. We will accept that these men are soldiers of the army. There was clearly a mix up in the shuffle and their being without their uniforms. They will each receive the proper honors with their discharge.”

Gandalf coughed.

“Fine. They can also choose to stay on in the army if they wish.”

“I decline, sir,” came her own clear and determined voice. Gimli looked around at the others and seeing their support for her. They were in all of this together.

The general leveled her gaze at Gimli. “And you are?”

“Corporal Gimli, sir. And I can’t speak for the others here, but when I make a promise, when I give my word, I am bound to it. I kissed the Duchess and when I did, she accepted my pledge. When I joined I thought I was just going to find my cousins and bring them home. I thought that would be the end of it and making it here and back with all of us alive was the biggest task I would face. But things aren’t like that. I saw enough to know that I wouldn’t really be rescuing them so long as Mordor still poses a threat to our lands. I kissed the Duchess and made a promise. All of us did. You can try and deny it all you want, but it happened. When I did it it was more than just me, Gimli doing it, it was me Astrin too, it was all of me. I made my pledge and that is between the Duchess and I.”

“You all kissed me and made the same pledge. I did not turn from you, but accepted you with open arms,” said a rich elegant voice, echoing around the room.

Gimli turned to see Frodo standing. Well, not so much standing as upright. Her toes were touching the ground, but the rest of her feet hovered above the ground. There was a glow about her as though she was radiating golden light. And while all her features were there, her expression was not her own.

“To have form again,” said the voice from within Frodo, stretching out her arms to look at them, “so wonderful. I had forgotten what it was like to breathe and feel.”

Gandalf dropped to his knees, bowing his head. “Your grace!”

“My dear sergeant,” her hand raised his head to look at her, “you have spilt oceans of blood for me and still long to serve. I wish we could have given you an easier life. For your many years of devious action and diabolic conniving, I hereby promote you to sergeant major. I think the role will suit you well.” Then she moved forward, towards the table of military officers. “Now where is my army?”

“Who are you?” demanded the general, “I don’t appreciate the unauthorized use of magic in my halls.”

“You always have been a strict believer in order, my dear Saruman. A lesson you learned the hard consequences of after you did not properly take care of Sauron back in Dol Guldur. But do not blame yourself, he will yet be defeated.”

“How—there’s no way you could know that!”

The small hand reached out and gently stroked the white hair. “You know me, Curunír.”

The light of recognition shown in the General’s eyes. “But Lady Galadriel, you were… you had faded!”

“I faded, but did not die. The hopes of so many in this world held me here. I have been listening to all the prayers of the peoples of Middle Earth. They cry out from all over looking for comfort that I cannot give. You must be the one to give it to them, general.”

“How dare you use the name of my Lady Galadriel to twist the minds of the officers here, witch!” cried the Brigadier, rising from her seat.

“I know that voice.” Frodo turned. “Haldir, my most dear guard and confidant, I am glad to see you again. Do you remember when you came to me with trembling hands and asked for me to teach you how to dance?”

“At the feast of the harvest moon. I told you I felt like—“

“-you had three left feet.” Frodo laughed and it reminded Gimli of Legolas’, high and clear and full of a youthful sincerity.

“I was mortified after I said that but you took my hands so sincerely and showed me each of the steps in turn.” Haldir spoke with great reverence, her voice soft and trembling.

“I have used this child to send this last request for you all before I leave this world and return to the earth to meet my beloved Celeborn once more. Give these women their proper due. It is time things changed. Sauron is retreating, his power wanes. You must defeat him at all costs. He does not think that the peoples of Middle Earth can unite. Here in this very room is the heir of Isildur and the rightful Queen of Gondor. Have a coronation and give hope to your cause. Aragorn will triumph over Prince Sauron, just like her ancestor. Peace will be garnered. Then you must all see to your homes. Rebuild what has been lost. And now, I give that which you have given to me and take my leave.”

There was a flash of light and then a sensation of a kiss upon her cheek. Gimli looked around and saw that all the officers had a hand to the same spot on their faces. They had all felt it. It was real.

Frodo lay on the floor in a peaceful slumber.

Sensing the hesitation in the room, Gandalf stood and approached the table again. “Your orders, sir?” he asked Saruman.

“Orders, yes, we must get back to the business. We send a detachment to offer Mordor a chance to surrender. In the meantime, we must prepare for a coronation.”

“And what of the women?” asked Major Bombadil.

“I salute them. They may join as men or as themselves. For those of us who have already been serving however, I think it is still too soon to reveal what we are. No one is to speak of our secrets outside of this room,” said General Saruman, regaining his composure entirely at last. “Understood?”

“Indubitably!” said Gandalf. “Lieutenant Éowyn’s men!”

“That will be Captain Éowyn now,” the General said.

“Captain Éowyn’s men, we move out. A lot of work to be done still and you all are out of uniform!”  
\-----

A group of guards came to retrieve several of them later that evening. Sam’s man, or at least a man fitting his general description had been found. So too had the twins who Aragorn had sought. Her own cousins were also located. With Legolas close on her heels Gimli rushed with the guard through the long twisting hallways until at least she came to the door.

Her heart was beating uncontrollably fast. This was it; this was the moment of truth. She took a deep breath, comforted by the tall elf at her side, and opened the door.

Inside were Fíli and Kíli, as unharmed and high spirited as ever they were. Kíli was talking enthusiastically with a red-haired elf. Fíli was wearing the smile he wore when he was trying to poke holes in his brother’s ego. The three of them turned towards the door.

“Fíli! Kíli!” she cried, her heart about to burst from being reunited with them at last.

“Astrin!” they both said in unison.

“Tauriel?” asked Legolas at his side.

“Your highness!” cried the elf besides Kíli.

There was a moment of silence where everyone looked around, the unspoken question on everyone’s minds.

Kíli was the first to break the silence. “So the women that broke us out are…?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I told you both I’d see you again, didn’t I? So much for living up to your mother’s legend.”

Fíli grinned. “Yes, yes, gloat all you want about being the one to go above and beyond in being like mum. You do have a distinct advantage over us there.”

“I know. One of us knows how to be smart on the battlefield,” Gimli retorted.

Both Legolas and Tauriel giggled.

Kíli looked to the elf. “Tauriel, this is our cousin Astrin. She’s younger, but she’s like a big sister to us. Always looked out for us.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Astrin,” the elf extended a hand in a gesture of friendship. “My name is Tauriel. I was once part of Princess Legolen’s personal guard. I left shortly before her on a mission for the King and ended up in the skirmish here at the castle.”

“You can call me Gimli,” she replied “and the pleasure is mine.”

“Tauriel, were you captured?” asked Legolas with concern.

The redhead smiled shyly. “I was, my lady.”

“But it wasn’t an easy capture, I’ll tell you that!” shouted Kíli with enthusiasm, “She must’ve taken out at least three dozen orcs before they surrounded her!”

“She?” Legolas ventured with a wide grin.

Tauriel looked to the side. “I just didn’t see the need to correct him. He has been so sweet.”

Kíli’s face dropped and Fíli burst into laughter. “You’ve been waxing on and on poetically about the girl of your dreams and she’s not even a girl!”

The poor boy stood there looking utterly confused.

“It’s alright,” said Legolas, “mortals tend to have a hard time distinguishing elf gender.”

“I’m sorry,” Tauriel said, his eyes downcast.

Kíli grabbed the pale hands in his, looking up to the taller man with earnest. “It doesn’t matter to me. My feelings are still the same. Elf, dwarf, male, female. What do these things even mean anymore? The world is changing. Will you see it through with me?”

Tauriel’s eyes met the dwarf’s and he smiled, nodding.

“Well, I think we’ll have to put this reunion on hold for a little while longer. Let these two have their moment alone,” said Fíli moving to where Gimli and Legolas stood at the door.

Legolas touched her heart with a hand and held out. Tauriel repeated the gesture.

The three of them left, closing the door behind them.

Fíli wrapped an arm around her. “So, my little cousin found herself a princess. Looks like I just gotta snag myself a elf and we can all live happily ever after.”  
\-----

They had received a lot of stares and were met with general disbelief when their story had spread throughout the castle. Major General Denethor was only less disappointed than Captain Sméagol. For the information disclosed during their trial, Sméagol was taken into custody for charges of treason and violating several laws of army protocol, a point that gave them all a bit of cheer.

Runners were sent to all the alliance Kingdoms to make them aware of the coronation and all were bid to send an official representative. Most Kingdoms chose to have the female heroes of their kingdom represent them, Rivendell had yet to chose a member for their delegation. In fact, no reply of any sort had come from Lord Elrond’s court and it was obvious just how nervous the whole affair made Aragorn.

Then the day of Aragorn’s coronation finally arrived. Gimli and Legolas had come to visit the future queen only to discover that there was still no word from Rivendell. They glanced at each other with worry and offered what comforts they could. Still, despite the importance of the event, it was obvious how unhappy Aragorn was.

Legolas was dressed in a high collared pale green brocade dress with dark green beech leaves embroidered around the collar and cuffs with delicate silver threads for the venation. Upon her golden head was a simple circlet of braided beech branches and sprigs of white lilac.

Gimli herself was dressed in a simple dark blue linen dress and black leather bodice, stamped with geometrical shapes that formed many labrises. She had her beard styled as was proper for an accomplished warrior, but she had her hair plaited up into a proper feminine style.

Legolas put a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “It will be alright. Someone will arrive for the ceremony. Lord Elrond and his people have looked after you and protected your identity for many years; they will not let you down now.

“You must have hope, lass,” said Gimli, “they’ll come.”

“I am trying, friends,” Aragorn said, looking at her reflection in the large ornate looking glass. “But it is difficult.”

“You look like a real queen at last,” joked Legolas, grinning, “who knew you could clean up so nicely.”

“You don’t think it’s too opulent? I haven’t worn so much velvet and lace since my youth.”

Gimli let out deep laugh and Legolas joined in with her.

“You’re a Queen. Isn’t opulent the goal?” she asked.

“My father never leaves his chambers unless he’s draped in at least two or three layers of the finest silks. I think you could add some more jewelry, personally,” Legolas agreed.

There was a knock at the door and a servant entered. “Your majesty, it is time.”

“Thank you, Braesa,” Aragorn said, giving one last look at her reflection.

They left the future queen to go and join the others and waited with the rest of their unit for the ceremony to begin. Legolas kept an eye out for any sign of Elrond or another elf in his stead. They saw no one before the trumpets sounded to herald the arrival of the Gondor’s royalty.

As the procession stepped out into the large courtyard, Gimli noticed the nervousness upon Aragorn’s face. She realized that the poor woman must still be anxious. It might be the biggest day of Aragorn’s life and the people she thought of as family had not arrived. Gimli was angry for Aragorn. How could you not want to see the child you raised become a Queen?

General Saruman stepped forward and began the introductions. She was dressed in her formal uniform, decorated with half a chest full of medals from her many years of service. The crowd of military and civilians watched on in awe.

At long last the ceremony came to a climax and Aragorn was bid to step forward and kneel. She took the scepter that was handed to her and knelt down.

“May the heft of this crown serve as a constant reminder of the weight of governing and the pride of your people. You came to us a mere ranger in disguise, but you shall rise as the Queen of Gondor. May your rule be long and benevolent. Rise, Queen Aragorn of Gondor.”

The watched as Aragorn stood back up to her full height, the crowd cheering wildly. Gimli joined in herself. Then she noticed a subtle change. A smile was forming on the splitting lips.

Legolas noticed it too. “There!” she said, pointing. “It is Lord Elrond! He has arrived after all!”

“Who is that with him? I cannot see behind the banner.”

“That, my dear one, is the lady whose brothers Aragorn sought.”  
\-----

A great feast was held that night with all of their company, the military elite, and many many nobles. There was no end to variety of food and drink available. Gimli and her cousins determined to try each and every one of the alcohols available. Both Legolas and Tauriel were happy to indulge in the drinks as well and the five of them were enjoying the merriment.

Aragorn and a select few, such as the Major and Lord Elrond, were seated at the head table. Their fellowship, in its entirety, were sat at one of the two tables closest by.

Captain Éowyn, who was seated on Gimli’s one side nudged her. “Corporal, that young lady keeps glancing over here. I think she might have an interest. What should I do?”

Gimli looked to see that Aragorn’s servant from earlier, who was standing at her side to serve wine, was in fact glancing over in their direction.

Gimli knew this was trouble. “She could be looking anywhere, sir.”

“Is she not quite beautiful? I’ve never seen a woman with such fair skin and beautiful eyes.”

“Well, sir, when it comes time for the dancing you could always ask her for a dance,” she suggested.

“You don’t think it would be too forward of me?”

She sighed. Was he looking for an excuse to pursue her or to run away? “I believe that is the normal means of conveying interest, sir. But the decision is yours.”

The woman raised her hand and waved meekly.

To her left the lieutenant panicked. “What do I do?”

“Wave back,” hissed Gimli. Idiot, she thought. As smart as he is he’s a complete idiot.

Éowyn waved back smiling. The girl turned to Aragorn, whispering something in the queen’s ear. There was an affirmative nod and the girl stepped away from the table, leaving the jug of wine beside the queen.

“Corporal! She’s coming this way!”

“Oh do calm down, sir,” said Legolas, joining in the conversation. “A lady likes a man with calm confidence.”

“Are you sure?” the lieutenant asked nervously.

“As a woman, I can assure you, we do.”

“Ah, right. Even still it’s hard to think of you men as women after all we’ve been through.”

The girl stopped across the table from the officer, looking worried, as though she was trying to gather her nerve.

Gimli elbowed the man, but the servant spoke first. “Sister. It’s me, Braesea.”

They turned to Boromir who had stood. “Did father…?”

“No,” said Braesea, “I knew who you were already. I would know you anywhere. What you have done for me, I can never repay with words or deeds.”

“I could not let father take away your life. You are too young.”

“He has never liked me, Braedea! You were his beloved daughter and I was not the son he wished for. There was a while where he still spoke of sending me to the stone, but he needed a child to produce an heir.” The girl came around the table and flung her arms around Boromir’s stone girth. “I have missed you so much.”

Besides Gimli, she could feel the lieutenant deflate. “I have been a fool to get my hopes up. What a sad tale for such a beautiful girl,” he lamented under his breath.

“And I you, sister. Let me introduce you to our captain, Éowyn.”

The man perked up. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“He was one of the few that defended us and our right to join after they tried to send us away. And he’s pretty brilliant with strategy too,” added Boromir, with a smile.

“This is your captain? But he’s so young and… handsome,” she finished off quietly. It seemed that Braesea was taking an interest in Éowyn after all.

“Would you care for a dance!” the captain exclaimed in a rush.

“Why yes,” she replied taking his outstretched hand and walking from the table.

“Has no one else noticed that there’s no music playing?” asked Merry.

“They look like they are moving to their own tune,” Legolas retorted.

Tauriel reached out his hand and took Kíli’s. “Might I have this dance?”

“Of course, you may.”

“I’ll stay here. The idiocy seems to be catching,” remarked Fíli, emphasizing his point with a healthy gulp of ale.

“I am just happy to see Braesea smile,’ said Boromir, a tone of sadness to her voice.

“She does look happy,” said Gimli, watching the two awkward figures dancing in the middle of the room. To their side, Tauriel and Kíli were figuring out how to move properly given their height difference.

“Sam,” said Legolas, “whatever happened with your Johnny? I had thought that they had found him?”

Pippin pushed across the table in front of Sam. “You should’ve seen her! Walked right up to the guy, looked him in the face, saw it was him, and turned away.”

“You left him? Without a word?” Legolas asked incredulously “After coming out here with his child to find him?”

“She did say one thing,” added Merry.

Gimli looked between the hobbits. “Well?”

“She said—“

“That’s not him,” finished Sam. “And it wasn’t. I mean, it was but…. He wasn’t the man that I came out here for. That man never existed. I kept my promise to Miss Frodo and that’s what matters most.”

Frodo placed a hand on Sam’s. “You are too good to me, Sam. Thank you for risking yourself to help.”

“Well, I think I need another drink,” said Gimli, needing a moment to process all that had happened now that there was peace at last.

She went to refill her mug and looked out over the room. The war was not yet won, but it was getting closer to ending. They might even be able to defeat Sauron. But for now they could enjoy a reprieve. Glancing around she could see a variety of people all who seemed to be enjoying this moment. She wished for the peace to come back to the land so that this could be normal.

The music started up at last and the room spun into colorful movements. Men and women, civilians and military, all rose to join one another in the tune. Watching the dancing, she felt ever so slightly homesick. These sort of events had always been her father’s favorites. Legolas came and pulled her over to dance and she soon forgot all about home, feeling instead the warmth of the lithe body in her arms.  
\-----

When the festivities drew to a close and people started to stream out, Gimli noticed that Aragorn was nowhere to be found.

“Have you seen where Aragorn went?” she asked Legolas.

The elf shook her head. “Did you need her?”

“No, just was curious,” she replied.

“I wanted to get a look at the stars from up on the east tower. Care to join me? I bet the view is spectacular.”

Gimli smiled and followed Legolas through the winding maze of corridors until they broke out into the courtyard. The stairs for the east tower were on the far side. But the courtyard was not vacant. Standing in the center was Aragorn with Lord Elrond and the elven maiden from the ceremony. This must be the woman that had given Aragorn’s song such a heartrending power.

Gimli felt like they were intruders on these long separated lovers. This was probably a private moment and they should go. As she took a step to turn, they were noticed.

“My friends, I bid you come and meet Lord Elrond and his daughter, the lady Arwen,” Aragorn said with a small bow.

Legolas stepped forward, even when Gimli had been ready to make excuses for interrupting.

“So good to see you again, Lord Elrond. Lady Arwen, I believe it has been many decades since we last met.”

“It has indeed, Lady Legolen.”

“My apologies for interrupting your reunion,” Gimli added, bowing very low.

“It is no trouble,” said Elrond with a kind smile. “It is nice to finally meet some of Aragorn’s companions. She took it upon herself to join the army to free my sons who were captured. Although, I am also aware that this was done for some less altruistic reasons, I am glad to see them safe once more. Well, I will see them once they have sobered up, I suppose.”

There was a clamoring of voices and whom should they be coming from, but four little hobbits.

“Looks like we can meet more of your fellows,” said Elrond.

After general introductions had been made, Arwen turned to the queen. “My love, I came with father for more than just congratulating you on your coronation.”

Aragorn smiled widely at her and some of the flesh at the crease of her mouth ripped. “I am overjoyed to hear it.”

The lady’s pale hand laid upon the torn flesh. “I have come to declare my affections. Although I fear this may be more painful than either of us anticipate.”

“With you at my side, I will weather anything.” Aragorn spoke earnestly.

Elrond and Arwen exchange a meaningful glance, although it was impossible to discern what meaning it held.

“Aragorn, daughter of Arathorn, son of Arador. I am willing to accept your heart, if you are willing to accept mine,” said Arwen, stepping forward.

Aragorn’s face lit up. “My sweet, my Evenstar, whose very light is all I need in this world, of course I will accept yours, if you would do me the honor of accepting mine.”

Next to him, Gimli could see Pippin putting an arm around Merry who returned the gesture. There was no denying how deeply the love between the Aragorn and Arwen went. There was an energy about them that was like watching to pieces of a whole come together at last. She sighed and leaned back against Legolas.

Arwen looked at the queen as if the universe was in her eyes, “Then trust in our love. Nan tuir e-mîl, darin e rhaich."

Aragorn’s eyes widened just in time to let Gimli know to brace for something before Arwen flashed into action.

None, save maybe Legolas, could have seen her movements, but the horror when your brain finally wrapped itself around what she had done was all consuming. Arwen stood, both her and Aragorn’s hearts in her slim hands, her body trembling, and blood still coming out of the ripped arteries with a last few pumps.

Sam passed out instantly, Frodo barely catching her, lest she harm the baby or herself.

With a last motion, Arwen shoved her heart into Aragorn’s chest, before collapsing to the ground. Aragorn herself was already falling from the force of injury. Arwen had her hand wrapped around Aragorn’s heart and she tried to get it into her, but she was already losing consciousness.

In an instant, Legolas was at her side, holding Aragorn steady in one arm and easing the heart into Arwen’s chest with her other hand. Gimli cried out to Aragorn, unsure why such a thing had to come to pass. She knew elves had strange ways, her time with Legolas had proved that, but this! What cause could there be to do such a thing? Behind her she heard the sound of Merry and Pippin retching.

Lord Elrond came forward then, gently pressing Legolas out of the way and placing his hand upon the chest of his cherished daughter. He spoke low, barely a whisper, to Legolas, who nodded in turn. One thin arm upon Aragorn’s chest and the other in Elrond’s larger hand, they began to chant. A blue glow spread all around them and the two fallen lovers at their knees.

Frodo gasped. “Is he….?”

And Gimli saw then just how great the power of Lord Elrond was, for not only was the flesh re-growing around both gaping wounds, but the skin on Aragorn’s face and arms fell away like a flower blooming in springtime, revealing clear living flesh below. The scars from who knew how many decades of attaching the parts of other men were gone. Features emerged from under the layers of dead skin. Beneath was a face she barely recognized. It was the true face of the woman who she had grown to think of as a brother in arms. No, more than that, a true sister.

Legolas gave out a hiss in pain and Elrond shook her arm, urging her not to let go. Legolas could not chant but in bouts, her body racked with spasms of pain, tears streaming down her face, but Elrond continued as though he was in no pain at all.

There was a flutter of eyelashes and Arwen slowly opened her eyes, taking a soft breath and placing her hands on her chest. She smiled down at her hands, then up at her father. After a few minutes she sat up and moved to Aragorn’s side, placing her hands upon his chest and chanting in Legolas’ place.

For all the strength she normally displayed, Legolas dragged herself away from the pile of elves looking more disheveled and broken than Gimli knew an elf could. She looked more ragged and worn out than when Gimli had nearly died.

Gimli rushed to her and nearly pulled back. Her skin was cold as solid ice and Gimli immediately went about rubbing the limbs to try to bring the usual warmth back. She didn’t know that Legolas could be so badly shaken. The spell must have taken it out of her.

When Elrond assured them all that the danger was passed, he carried Aragorn to her chambers. . Arwen shuffled slowly along behind them and Gimli and Legolas followed closely. The hobbits told them to go ahead, for they were still in a state of shock. Gimli was in shock herself, but her worries for Legolas’ well being stifled her anxieties.

The three were laid out on beds and some of Elrond’s attendants, who had apparently been prepared for such an outcome, began administering to them. Gimli stayed at Legolas’ bedside, holding her hand, until the doctors bid her to leave the patients to rest.  
\-----

It was almost dawn when she sat outside the door to the queen’s room and Gandalf approached. He sat down by her side without a word. Gimli was tired enough that she stayed in the companionable silence for a while. Gandalf’s hand was on something under his uniform. He had rarely been close enough to the sergeant to really see what it was, but the shape there was unmistakable now that they were seated so near.

“What’s that, Sarg?”

“It’s Sergeant Major now, Corporal. Don’t think they’ll go easy on you just cause you’re a woman. And don’t trust them if they do.”

“Yes, sir,” said Gimli. “So what is it?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a small memento of the past.” said Gandalf, pulling the small locket out and holding the golden pendant in his hands.

“May I?” Gimli asked, curious as to why the Sergeant Major would want him to see this now. After all, if he didn’t want to share, he never would have brought any attention to it.

Gandalf nodded and Gimli opened the locket, studying the two images within. One, a young woman with long brown hair, was staring forward with a bright grin on her face The other, a young man with curly chestnut hair, was looking shyly to the side. “This is you!” she exclaimed. The features were still recognizable so many years later.

“Yes. Although it’s been decades and decades since.”

“Is this why you joined up, sir?” she asked.

Gandalf nodded.

“What was his name?”

“Aiwendil,” Gandalf said slowly, as though it took a lot of force to say the words. “He was….”

“You don’t have to tell me. You didn’t have to tell me any of this.”

“No, my girl, I think I do. Old Gandalf’s been holding onto this one for more decades than most could imagine. My time here in the army has come to an end and before I go, I might as well tell the person who’s the most likely to follow in my footsteps.”

Gimli’s mind was still a bit muddled from the events of the evening. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the news that their sergeant, who had looked after them through every bit of their rough journey, might be parting from them.

More importantly, she was moved that Gandalf would say they were similar at all. Smarter than the average Rupert, sure, but how many years and years worth of experience and knowledge could one of Middle Earth’s most famous soldiers have? “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything!” Gandalf snapped, then deflated a little. “You can just listen to what I have to say. This is the last thing I’m going to do before I leave. Really retire this time.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“When I was young Aiwendil and I had a bit of a romance. He got called off to war, which was pretty common back then. We didn’t want to be separated and he was no fighter, so I snuck in, same as you, to keep him safe. Turned out I was a pretty damn good soldier.” Gandalf sighed. “He wasn’t. Poor thing was always so gentle and compassionate. He didn’t belong on a battlefield, I can tell you that.”

Gimli could hardly imagine the fierce and cunning Gandalf having been interested in someone as naive as that, but she was meeting a war hardened soldier and not the young girl who had left to join an army. Perhaps she would one day be as coldly calculating as the sergeant major. If she was lucky enough she would be.

The old woman looked fondly at the small portrait. “He had always preferred being in nature. He liked peace and spending hours watching animals. I think he preferred their company to that of any person,” she laughed sadly. "It got him killed, the stupid boy. Couldn't shoot the bow when he needed to. Blade split his belly clean open. Nasty way to go that."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was his own damn fault. But I am not here to set the scars of an old soldier upon you. Just, be careful with that elf of yours. You keep each other safe."

"We will, sir." Gimli hesitated for a moment before asking. "What was your name? Back before you became Gandalf, that is."

"Mithrandir," the old woman said with a sigh. The effort it took to speak told Gimli that the name had not passed her lips in a long time. Perhaps she had sworn never to utter it aloud in order to protect her secret. She remembered the sergeant major’s words back in the tribunal. That was why she was looking out for them. Gandalf had been protecting the girls that had been like her; alone and scared in the army.

“It was you who gave me the socks.”

Gandalf smiled, nodding.

"Would you go back to that old life of yours if you could? If you could do it all again?"

The old wicked grin Gimli was used to seeing from across campfires and behind the shadows of trees returned. "Never."

She smiled at Mithrandir. "I am going to miss you, Sergeant Major."

"I'll be keeping a close eye on all of you even though I am gone."

"I don't doubt it, sir."

The doctors left the room and announced that everyone was back in proper health. “They may take visitors if you promise not to excite them too much,” said one to Gimli with a stern look.

Gandalf stood. “I won’t keep you any longer, Corporal. Give my regards to the others.”

Gimli hopped to her feet, realizing that the woman who had mentored her so carefully through this war was about to slip off for good. “Sir, what if I need to find you?”

The woman laughed at her. “You don’t need old Gandalf hanging around you like an elderly nagging mother. You have learned everything you need. The power is inside you, mistress dwarf, if you care to give it strength.”

“Gimli!” exclaimed Legolas from inside the room.

She turned to see the elf sitting up in the bed, smiling with childlike joy. When she turned back towards Gandalf, the woman was gone.

Gimli took a deep breath, then turned with a smile of her own, and headed in to visit Aragorn and Legolas.  
\-----

It was three months after the battle at the black gates. Aragorn had offered terms and been refused once more. A mighty battle was fought and there were many deaths upon both sides. But everything came to an end once Aragorn met Prince Sauron on the field. They dueled for hours while the fighting had gone on all around them. The prince’s blade had pierced Aragorn’s thigh, but she ran her blade through the eye of her enemy and out through his head, slaying him on the spot. With their leader defeated it took little time for the battle to draw to an end. The war was over. Peace had returned once more and the people celebrated for weeks after.

Like all good things, however, the celebrations had ended. The time had arrived when they had to part company. Gimli had known the day would come, of course, but it was hard to face after all they had been through together. Gandalf was already who-knew-where, and now everyone had their own lives to get to.

Frodo pledged to take care of Sam and her child. Ever since in incident at the tribunal Frodo had not mentioned the Duchess nor shown any signs of communicating with her again. The hobbit's focus had shifted entirely to caring for Sam. A part of Gimli wanted to ask about the incident, but seeing how genuinely happy Frodo was now, she didn't dare to bring it up. You almost didn't recognize the outgoing and independent woman who had taken the place of the small and tired hobbit who had been with them on their entire journey. It only put the optimistic Sam in a brighter mood and the mother-to-be seemed to glow.

Gimli’s own cousins, Fíli and Kíli, invited Frodo and Sam to stay at the Duchess until after the child was born, and Tauriel agreed to go with them. Gimli wrote a letter of introduction for her companions to be given to her father on her behalf and Aragorn generously supplied the five of them with a caravan and ponies for the journey. Gimli was honestly glad that Tauriel had gone with her cousins, he seemed the type to enjoy their antics while being able to keep them on task. She promised that she would come and visit them when she next had leave from her duties.

Merry and Pippin decided to take their riches and travel. Gimli prayed for the souls of the poor bastards they might come across on their journey. No doubt the pair would be in trouble in no time, although they now might have the skills to actually get themselves back out. They promised Gimli they would stop by the Duchess and visit her one day after they had been able to see the world.

Boromir was not leaving Osgiliath, electing instead to stay as a part of Aragorn's personal guard. As a golem, she said, she had no skills except battle and being in the guard allowed her to stay close to her sister. Gimli also suspected it had to do with keeping an eye on Éowyn. Braesea and Captain Éowyn were officially courting. It had taken a long time convincing Denethor, but they were eventually given his blessing. Gimli was pleased by how much the two doted upon one another and you could see that Denethor was growing fond of the Captain..

Aragorn and Arwen were engaged as soon as the battle was over and were now busy planning for their wedding. Lord Elrond had returned to Rivendell with his sons, leaving Arwen in Aragorn’s care. They had never seemed happier and you could not find the one without the other. Although, perhaps Gimli should not judge, considering she had a similar situation with an elf of her own.

Legolas and Gimli bade the others farewell and climbed onto the back of their mount. They were taking a short leave of duty before returning to Gondor for assignment. As reward for winning their bet, Legolas was to travel with Gimli to the famed Glittering Caves: one of the dwarves’ most sacred temples. Gimli still wasn’t going to turn around and become an avid follower of the prophet Durin, but she thought she should pay Mahal respects for the axe she had been gifted in his name.

To be fair to the elf, Gimli agreed to go anywhere Legolas wanted to go that would be an important cultural location for elves. Legolas’ face had brightened and a wicked smile crossed her lips. There was a promise made that it would be special.

She wrapped her arms around Legolas’ slim waist and breathed in the scent of her long hair. They had loaded up on food and drink enough for a trip twice as long. It would be just the two of them out in the world. They did not have to worry about military duty or social obligations. Gimli was at last beginning the part of her life where she was free to be who she was.

Legolas turned over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go then, Tossfeng?”

Gimli gave a mock frown. “What did I say about speaking Elvish without translating?”

The elf reached forward and tugged lovingly on her beard. “I do not believe you have said anything in particular about not speaking Sindarin.”

Gimli opened her mouth to make a quip, but Legolas’ soft lips were upon hers, leaving her speechless. As they parted, a smiled came to the elf’s lips.

“Well, off we go, then,” said Legolas, turning back and giving a light kick to their mount Arod’s side. The horse took off down the road and Gimli had to tighten her grip. She could hear Legolas laughing softly, feeling the elf’s belly shake beneath her hands.

Gimli smiled. It felt right here with Legolas. Come whatever may, as long as they were together, Gimli would be happy.


End file.
